Grand Theft Auto: Rushmore City
by Metal Harbinger
Summary: This is a reboot of 'Capitol City' where all Artie Cappelli wanted was a fresh start in his life he had hoped Rushmore City would provide, especially from what his cousin told him, but instead finds himself surrounded by all sorts of chaos once again.
1. Welcome to Rushmore City Artie Cappelli

Grand Theft Auto: Rushmore City  
>by Metal Harbinger<p>

Author's Note: It is after a lot of thinking that I have decided to discontinue "Grand Theft Auto: Capitol City" after the combination of running out of ideas and things being so unorganized they seemed so thrown together (at least in my personal opinion) that I was forgetting what went where.

Rest assured though, I am not giving up on the other ideas I had wanted to implement and thus "Capitol City" will be undergoing a reboot into the very fic you see before you right now.

Artie Cappelli will be returning, as will most of the familiar cast members I've already introduced. Some will be recast and some will be eliminated, mostly the ones I couldn't think of much to do with being the latter.

As it is with any typical GTA story, this story will be rated 'M' for strong violence, explicit gore, adult language (including some racial slurs, to which I must point out I am NOT a racist in real life and that any slurs uttered will be strictly the views of my fictional character), drug abuse and some sexual content. Viewer discretion is advised!

As it goes with any piece of fan-fiction I write, I do not own the rights to the "Grand Theft Auto" franchise, they are strictly the property of Rockstar Games.

Now that you have been forewarned, on with the story…

Chapter 1: Welcome to Rushmore City Artie Cappelli

_"Hey yo', you've just reached the phone of Gino Cappelli, your number one purveyor of late night fun in all of Rushmore City. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number and a short message, and if you're an attractive woman, your measurements, I'll be sure to get back to you as soon as possible. Ciao!" _a boastful tone called out over the thumping bass of techno music in the background, prompting the caller to snicker quietly to himself.

_"Good ol' Cousin Gino, always the biggest talker in the room," _Arthur Cappelli thought to himself waiting for the tone that would signal for him to begin talking. A loud electronic beep sounded and he began speaking.

"Hey Gino, this isn't some hot big titted minx, it's your cousin Artie! As of right now I'm entering Lincoln and should be arriving at your place in a few minutes. Have your lazy ass hopping and ready to go 'cause I don't like to be kept waiting y'know. Talk to you in a bit. Ciao!" Artie slapped his cell phone shut to end the call and then shoved it back into his pocket.

"So this is Rushmore City, huh?" Artie asked aloud shifting uncomfortably in the backseat of the taxi he presently occupied.

It was high noon on what appeared to be a nice sunny day, except the city itself was anything but nice.

"Heh yeah, it's Heaven on Earth if you're hooked on half the shit flooding the streets around these parts. This place oughta' be considered a godforsaken shithole by anybody with any shreds of common decency!" the grubby middle-aged driver called from the front as the skyscrapers and upscale establishments of Washington Dell were replaced by the factories and tenements of Lincoln Island, where even for this time of day the streets were filled with their usual droves of laborers, hobos, prostitutes, druggies, gang members and other general slime, a far cry from the well-dressed businessmen, women in the latest fashions and tourists who resided across the bridge.

_"Guess I can't disagree with your there pal," _he thought to himself as he watched a teenaged hoodlum run up and knock an old lady to the pavement before swiping up her purse and vanishing from sight.

"So mind telling me why a well-dressed fellow like yourself even bothered coming to this dump again? It sure takes a lot of balls to be coming to this pit dressed like that. Hell, I'll be surprised if you don't get some scamp trying to hold you up the second you step outta this cab!" the driver inquired as they came to a stoplight.

The younger man looked down to the outfit he wore, which consisted of a nice black button up dress shirt and pair of clean blue jeans. Indeed they were decent clothes, but to him were nowhere near the level of grandeur the cabbie made them out to be.

_"Then again, he's probably not used to seeing somebody around these parts who understands the concepts of a shower, a toothbrush and some cologne," _Artie thought to himself staring at his own reflection in the window, his short, wavy black hair all nice and clean, his tanned skin emitting a healthy shine and his face as smooth as it could be after a fresh shave. He looked over to a hobo who carried everything he owned in a shopping cart and then over to a sagging hooker who looked like she had probably been standing on that same corner since the days of Christ. He could tell already he would stand out like a sore thumb when compared to the locals around this island.

_"Must be the Crowex too," _he thought staring down at the gold watch wrapped around his left wrist.

"I have some 'personal business' that needs tending to," Artie replied, catching sight of some tough-looking individuals in bright red jackets that he noticed staring intently at him, much like the nameless driver had prophesized.

"Heh heh damn, it must be pretty personal if you're going to Camden Heights of all places! That place right there is a major shithole, fuck it's the king daddy of all shitholes! Did you hear they just had another big gang battle over there the other night? Nine people dead!" the driver rasped.

Artie brought up a hand to silence the man, "Please, I didn't come to receive a history lesson. Just get me there as fast as you can."

The driver shrugged his shoulders, "Heh, sure thing high roller! You're the boss," he sarcastically chuckled returning his attention to the street ahead of him as the light turned green.

_"Hey Lenny, yo' we jus' got a call from Hamid over in Bellport. Apparently there's been some major six car pileup and the coppers got the whole area blocked off. If yer headin' over that way ya' might have to find yourself another route 'cause it looks like they won't be goin' nowhere for quite a while," _a lady's high-pitched voice squealed over the radio.

Sighing heavily, the driver now known as Lenny, grabbed the receiver and spoke, "Sure thing Trudy!" Slowing the cab down, he waited as a delivery truck pulled to a halt outside a shop and carefully veered around it. "Looks like we're gonna be takin' the scenic route, kid! Oh well, more money in my pocket! Heh!"

This 'Lenny' fellow was already getting on his nerves. _"My name isn't 'Kid' damn it and nor am I one. I'm 28 freaking years old Pops!" _Artie thought to himself. He seriously hated people talking down to him like he was still a child; he had already gotten enough of that bullshit from his previous employers.

Driving further down the street, the cabbie made a right turn and was instantly halted by a road construction sign.

"Goddamn it!" Lenny grunted as he pulled up to a worker holding a stop sign. "Looks like we might be spending a little more quality time together," he snickered pulling out a cigarette and lighter while turning up the radio's volume to drone out the rattling jackhammer outside, filling the air with some outdated Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn duet compliments of Lone Star 92.9, leaving Artie wanting to beat his head against the nearest window as Lenny began singing along with male vocal sections.

"Son of a bitch," the young man muttered to himself when the screeching of tires somehow infiltrated his field of hearing.

A dark blue '05 Washington came speeding into view, driving onto a sidewalk and knocking over a row of newsstands before forcing a few of the road workers to leap out of the way, nearly clipping the cab as it peeled back onto the street.

"You crazy fucking idiot, watch where the hell you're going!" Lenny screamed out the window, flashing his middle finger to the fleeing driver. "Goddamned punks!" the balding man grunted pulling his arm back inside.

Less than a second later a gunshot rang out and the driver's brains were splattered all over the interior.

"What the fuck?" Artie called out as he was jarred from his daydream by more rattles of gunfire and the blood-curdling shrieks of people being shot to death. In another split second he was knocked backwards as the cab spun out of control when it was clipped by a red and white Clover.

_"Shit!" _the young man's mind repeated before he finally uttered the profanity aloud. He had not been injured in the crash, but the sounds of battle raged all around him as he lay perfectly still, pretending to be dead and waiting for the fighting to die down before he would attempt his escape.

The light popping of submachine guns and regular handguns mixed with the deep booms of shotguns and the ear-splitting rattle of assault rifles, later followed by a loud explosion that had probably been from either a hand grenade or a pipe bomb. More screams followed as a crash came from above, forcing Artie to raise his hands defensively as broken glass rained down upon him.

Opening his eyes, he gasped upon finding a dying man in a dark blue vest impaled on the shards of what was once the windshield. Several bullets had already torn through his chest, either way there was no chance of saving him.

"Not again damn it!" Artie grunted as he forced the door next to him open and stumbled onto the street, nearly tripping over the corpse of a road worker.

Black smoke congested the air all around him and he instinctively lowered his head as he felt the wind of high-powered bullets sailing above his head, almost as if they were coming from all directions. He crouch walked along the now shot up cab and took cover behind a Blista Compact that had been drenched with the blood of an old man.

_"Goddamn it, what the hell is going on here?" _Artie asked himself as he witnessed the insanity all around him.

Innocent bystanders were fleeing in all directions they could, screaming their lungs out as they attempted to dodge the bullets fired upon them or weave their way around those who had not been fast enough to escape the ensuing skirmish.

A young couple fled, hand in hand, as they leapt over the body of another road worker, only to be sent airborne as a Stallion convertible collided with them before the car itself would plow head on into a jewelry store. Nearby, another frightened man ran over and hijacked a Kuruma that had come to a halt, pulling the door open and punching the driver in the face before throwing him to the concrete and speeding away while the driver's wife protested from the passenger seat. As the bullets flew, pedestrians continued falling at an alarming rate.

Artie was about to take cover behind another car when he was interrupted by a man in a puffy green jacket colliding with him.

"Watch where you're going you fucking asshole," the man screamed as he stumbled back to his feet and resumed bolting down the street.

Before Artie could return a vulgar reply of his own, there was another loud explosion and he looked over his shoulder, only to find a large flaming hunk of metal coming towards him like a manmade comet.

"Fuck!" he screamed in wide-eyed horror as the burning car landed on top of the Blista Compact he had hidden behind just seconds earlier, creating another explosion which sent him flying into the air.

Pain coursed throughout Artie's athletic form as he lay on the ground and he wanted to lay there in a near broken heap until somebody could come and tend to him, but right now that wasn't an option. He had to keep moving if he wanted to survive and with a mighty roar he pushed himself back to his feet, doing everything he could to block out the jolts of agony shooting up his legs.

He turned to find a pink and white Oceanic swerving to a halt in the middle of the street and its owner, a man dressed in a purple pimp outfit, stepping out and firing at unseen attackers with a machine pistol until another red and white Clover came charging head on and smashed into the luxury sedan's side, sandwiching the pimp between twisted metal and leaving him to die a slow, agonizing death.

With no regards to their fresh victim, the Clover's doors flew open and two men in red jackets stepped out with guns blazing.

The sight of the red jackets made Artie gasp as he recognized them from somewhere else, remembering the thugs in similar attire who were eying him up while he was in the cab.

_"Must be a local gang," _Artie said to himself as he saw who the two men were firing at.

Hidden behind another dark blue Washington were three men, all in matching dark blue vests, two of whom were armed with regular handguns while the third carried a sawed-off shotgun.

_"I've gotta get the hell outta here," _he thought to himself as he turned around and stumbled towards the nearest alley, feeling slightly disoriented from all the earth-shattering chaos occurring around him.

Artie leapt haphazardly over some overturned trashcans and then nearly tripped over a ratty old lawn chair as he ran down the alley. He was confident he had slipped away unnoticed by the clashing factions, yet he still wanted to create as much distance between himself and the gory spectacle as possible, hoping nobody had decided to follow him.

Approaching a chain-link fence, he grabbed onto it and hastily pulled himself over, again forced to ignore shockwaves of pain as he strained himself before throwing his left leg over and then falling hard on his ass. He was telling himself to keep running, but his lungs felt like they were going to explode and he doubled over to catch his breath, not to forget that his entire lower body felt like it was on fire.

"Man, what the hell is wrong with this city?" Artie muttered slinking against the fence. _"Christ almighty even Liberty City was tame by comparison. At least there I had a chance to sit down and enjoy a meal before some guy got his brains splattered all over the place by one of those Triad dipshits."_

"Well, well, well…look at what we have here boys!" a cocky voice called out.

Approaching him were four young men, two of them carrying blackjacks and the others barehanded, all of them wearing bright red jackets. They all looked down upon him with a bloodthirsty sneer like they were sharks smelling blood. Artie said nothing as they stood tall over him, furrowing his brow and clenching his fists as he tried to avoid making any sudden movements.

"Looks like we've got ourselves an outlander here, boys!" called out the apparent leader of the group, a Caucasian man with a black bandana covering his shaved head and twirling his blackjack haphazardly. "The Crowex says so," he said pointing his weapon to the old watch, "No way a swanky businessman from Emerald Hill would be caught dead around these parts…unless of course we're the ones doing the killing," he finished, eliciting snickers from his comrades.

"And just who the hell are you punks?" Artie blurted out.

"You're right Low Lo, we've got ourselves an outlander," another one of the punks spoke up, "The bitch would know who we were right away and he'd be showing more damn respect too!"

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but that tag over there indicates that you're on Redcoats territory and we don't take kindly to strangers trespassing…unless you're willing to pay a 'fee' for safe passage," Low Lo spoke, making the money gesture with his free hand.

_"Oh great Artie, you haven't even been here an entire hour and already you're going to get yourself killed," _his mind scolded.

Looking over to his left he saw the 'tag' the leader spoke of, a skull wearing an 18th century British army officer's cornered hat in front of a large set of bold red letters outlined in black that formed the initials 'R.C.'

"So what's it gonna be chump stain?" Low Lo asked, "Are you going to cough it up, or do we have to 'convince' you to hand it over?" The two unarmed underlings cracked their knuckles to emphasize the man's point.

Artie was in a tight spot, much like he had been plenty of times before. His stubborn Cappelli pride prevented any feelings of hopelessness and he wouldn't allow them to kill him without a fight. Driven by instinct he felt around for anything he could use to defend himself with.

"Are you fucking deaf? What's it gonna be you little bitch?" Low Lo shouted.

"Let me think…" Artie spoke just as his hand grasped a discarded beer bottle. _"Not gonna win me this war alone, but it's better than nothing," _he thought as he swiped it from the pavement. "NO!" he screamed and with a mighty fling tossed it at his aggressor and caught him in the side of the head.

"Get him!" another Redcoat called out.

Artie pushed himself to his feet and tackled one of the Redcoats to the ground and driving his knee into the man's groin. While still mounting the man he brought his fist up and drove it into another man's gut before finding himself struck hard in the back of his head by a blackjack and pulled off the thug.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" Low Lo shouted as he rose to his feet and began to stomp away at him. The others joined in and began striking Artie all over his body before knocking him silly with another hard blow to the head.

"Get his stuff!" the leader ordered. It was the last thing Artie heard before blacking out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_**About 3 hours later**_

His head was killing him and his entire body felt like it was on fire. It had even been a chore for the young man to shoot his eyes open.

"Damn it…" Artie grunted as the late afternoon sunlight sapped his vision and he listened to the bones crackling as he rolled over to his side. Wiggling his body a little more, he grunted loudly as he felt every bone popping back into place. Thankfully nothing had been broken and he rolled over onto his stomach, taking a couple deep breaths before pushing himself back to his hands and knees.

He had been so distracted by the beating he had just endured he nearly forgot why he was there in the first place.

"Oh shit…Gino!" he blurted out, "Christ, how the hell long have I been out for?" he asked himself as he went to view his watch, only for his eyes to widen in horror as he realized it was nowhere to be found. Instinctively he reached for the cell phone in his pocket only to find that it wasn't there…along with his pants!

Struggling to regain his balance Artie crawled over to a nearby dumpster and grabbed on to pull himself back to his feet. As soon as he stood upright he looked down to find himself clad in just his boxers and undershirt.

_"Shit, those fuckers took everything," _he thought to himself, having lost his clothes, wallet, cell phone and even his Crowex, the very watch that had been given to him by his uncle as a graduation gift.

"Those goddamned sons of bitches…I'm gonna fucking kill them all when I find them," the young man grumbled as he stepped into a well-populated street, only to be met by raucous laughter and taunting whistles.

"Why hello handsome," the high-pitched voice of a nearby construction worker in hot pants called out, "My that's a big pipe you have there."

"Jeez, what be wrong wit' cha' boy?" an overweight African-American woman asked as she shielded her frightened child's eyes from him.

"Been working out much?" a blond-haired man mockingly called out, followed by the booming laughter of the crowd he traveled with.

"Yeah, I used to have a pair of underwear like that…until my father got a job!" another man shouted.

Growling in frustration Artie pushed his way through the gathering crowd, punching out an old man who pulled an oxygen tank behind him.

"This fucking day has only gone from bad to worse," he hissed as more pedestrians began staring at him, eventually happening across a group of young ladies who looked like they had just died and gone to Heaven.

"Oh my god, hello you big stud you!" a ditzy blonde called out, adjusting her halter top so more of her cleavage was sticking out, "You look like you've been working out. Mind if we feel your six pack?" she asked reaching down to lift up his undershirt.

"Uh, I kind of have some place to be right now," Artie replied pulling himself away, trying to remain as civil as possible towards the lady, who was actually pretty and definitely somebody he wouldn't have minded finding a secluded spot and having his merry way with if he wasn't already late for meeting up with his cousin.

"Yeah, my warm bed," a brunette added puckering her ruby red lips at him.

"Really please, I have to be somewhere right now," Artie said fighting against his hormones as a feisty redhead mimicked cat noises at him.

"C'mon sweetie, we don't bite…hard," the redhead cooed with a seductive wink of her emerald eye.

"Really, I appreciate the consideration miss, but I'm gonna be in trouble if I don't get to where I need to be soon," Artie spoke as she attempted to grind her ass against his leg.

A police siren caught the young man's attention and he looked up to see a patrol car pulling up to the curb.

"Alright buddy, show's over," a cop said stepping out and readying his taser.

"We've got a possibly mentally ill subject we are dealing with on Chesterfield Boulevard. Approaching with caution," the driver spoke into his shoulder-mounted radio before withdrawing his nightstick.

Without a word Artie freed himself from the redhead's grasp and bolted down the sidewalk as fast as he could.

"Call me!" the redhead shouted just as he rounded a corner and found a laundromat. Throwing himself inside he ignored the stares of worried patrons and reached into one of the machines to steal a freshly cleaned red track suit that thankfully matched his size and then found a pair of red and white sneakers that he slipped his feet into and then snuck out the building's back door.

"Damn it, I've gotta get to Gino's and fast," he told himself as he found a conveniently placed BMX bicycle waiting for him propped up against a nearby dumpster.

Hopping on the bike he pumped his way out of the alley and nearly knocked over a tiny old granny before speeding down the street. Unfortunately for him, he had also lost the directions to Gino's place, which he had written down on a piece of paper shoved into his pocket. He would have to stop somewhere to ask for help.

_"Goddamn those sons of bitches. I swear I'm going to track those fuckers down, slit their throats, fuck the wounds and then rip off their heads and shit down their goddamned fucking necks if I ever find them," _he thought to himself as he waited for an ambulance and fire truck to pass through the intersection, no doubt heading towards the site of that battle from earlier on.

For Arthur 'Artie' Cappelli it was just the beginning of his stay in Rushmore City, one of the toughest cities in all of America.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: It's taken me a while to do this, but I have finally managed to get the first chapter of this reboot up and going for a fic which itself was a reboot to begin with.

I'm going to try to take things a little slower this time around as I found out that is probably my best means of getting things done, yet at the same time trying to produce the speedy feeling of playing an actual Grand Theft Auto game.

I want to give a special thanks to those who followed "Capital City" and hope that you will follow this story closely as well and in the process you will be kind enough to deliver me your reviews!

This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME…and also a belated Happy New Year! \m/


	2. Family Matters

Chapter 2: Family Matters

Having stopped by a hot dog vendor to get directions for the designated meeting point, Artie pumped his way towards Hymen Avenue as fast as his newly-acquired bicycle could take him, like he was in a race against time.

_"I oughta' be after what those Redcoat pricks did to me back there," _he thought as he tried keeping in sync with the flow of traffic while pedaling down the designated bike lane, or the faded line that could have constituted the said lane, while frantically checking all of the street signs when given time. Aside from the name of the street, he was specifically instructed by his cousin to meet him at a place called 'The Little Black Book.'

Yet he had to wonder why Gino would want him to come to a part of town like this, probably the roughest neighborhood he had been in so far. The entire area was populated by ramshackle buildings covered in graffiti with their windows either barred or boarded up, wrecked cars littering the streets, more than one trashcan fire surrounded by a bunch of homeless drunks and more of those Redcoat punks waltzing around with their heads held up high like they owned the place.

_"Jesus Christ Gino, I thought you had better taste than this!" _he pondered to himself as he watched a man in a police officer's uniform being led into a back alley by a heavily made up middle-aged woman. _"Man, I thought even the police would have more sense than to come to a shithole like this! There's gotta be a place you can score fresher pussy than here…and I'm not talking about the kind that was fresh back when the Dead Sea was still alive. If not then I might have to think about turning gay. Sheesh!"_

All he knew right now was that he wanted to get off the streets as soon as possible before he could have a repeat of earlier today. They had taken his money, his watch and even his clothes, who knew what they would try taking next if presented the opportunity. The thought of that left Artie pumping until his legs were burning to the point he expected his skin to peel away.

_"Bingo!" _his mind shouted as he looked up to see the sign for Hymen Avenue and waited for a rusted old Walton pickup truck to pass before taking a left-hand turn.

Hymen Avenue appeared to be one of the more upscale streets in the dangerous Camden Heights neighborhood, but not by much. It was filled with low-rent strip clubs, adult bookstores, hole in the wall bars, rundown apartment complexes, an ethnic grocery store, a hardware store, a Swigger's liquor store, the burnt out remnants of a record store and a Pawn-o-Rama before he finally found the place he was looking for.

"So this is it, huh?" Artie asked himself quietly and scratched his head.

A weathered wooden sign hanging from a rusty hook indicated he was standing outside The Little Black Book, which turned out to be a small building painted an awful reddish-brown shade as opposed to what its name implied, most of the faded paint peeling away by this point.

Once again he had to ask himself why Gino would ask to meet him here of all places, a place that looked like it was about to collapse at any second and had a paint job that would make a blind person cry.

_"Being the owner of an upscale nightclub, maybe he wanted to meet up at someplace where nobody would expect him to set foot in for privacy's sake," _Artie thought to himself as he set the bike aside and approached a heavily dented, rusted metal door covered by faded posters advertising long ago events.

Pushing the door open a bell rang above to announce his presence to any other inhabitants, before falling and landing atop his head.

"Ow!" Artie grunted aloud, rubbing his sore noggin and finally getting a look at his surroundings, as well as the rancid stench of a place that likely hadn't been cleaned in over a century.

The bar itself was one small dimly-lit room that appeared much smaller than what it really was. Numerous signs advertising more than one brand of beer flickered on and off, along with all sorts of old athletic and band posters covered every available inch of wall available. Weathered old booths lined the western wall and seated in one of them was a couple that appeared to be on the verge of intercourse right then and there, something that left Artie wanting to scream at them to get a room like any sane individual would.

Aside from that spectacle, there were the typical outdated arcade games, a couple pinball machines, dartboards, a video poker machine, cigarette dispensing machine and two pool tables. An old-fashioned jukebox currently played "Some Kind of Wonderful" by Grand Funk Railroad, but Artie could still faintly hear the sounds of vomiting coming from the men's restroom.

Aside from the couple in the booth and the person in the men's room, the only other patrons present were a trucker sitting at the bar who had long since passed out, a short guy playing (or at least trying to play) darts and a middle-aged man involved in a screaming match on the payphone with what was presumably his wife.

Knowing he was practically invisible to everybody else and feeling thankful for it, Artie made his way over to the bar and plopped down on one of the stools. Behind the bar stood a young man who looked to be barely out of his teens with short dyed blood red hair that was shaved on the sides, wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of camouflage pants. At the moment he stood with his back to everyone else and his arms crossed in front of him, paying close attention to a small TV set hanging above the bottle racks.

The current scene showed a Hispanic woman in a beige suit standing before a police barricade, where one officer fought to contain an overzealous photographer and then a woman who ran up and attempted to snap a few pictures with her camera phone. Behind them, a crew of firefighters had their hoses out and were spraying down a still smoldering van that had been reduced to a charred hunk of twisted metal, while two paramedics could be seen loading a covered body into the back of an ambulance.

_"This is Cora Ricardo reporting live from the scene of yet another brutal gang-related massacre that took place in the early noon hours of today over on Chesterfield Avenue in what appeared to be another skirmish between the Redcoats and Aces street gangs, which at this point is confirmed to have seventeen casualties, most of them civilians._

_ "This is just the latest in a series of increasingly violent battles between the two warring factions, the most recent being two nights ago in the Camden Heights district, which resulted in nine casualties."_

The woman spoke in the somber tone that was expected of such an occasion, only to be cut off by an angry voice in the background.

_"Yeah, I'll tell you people what you need to be doing!" _shouted an angry middle-aged man running into view, _"The fucking R.C.P.D. needs to be getting off their fucking asses and doing something about those Redcoat pricks! Those fuckers run roughshod around here like they fucking own the place! If the coppers would stop getting their dicks sucked by the disease-ridden skanks around here then maybe we'd be getting somewhere!"_

Two officers ran over to subdue the man as he attempted to wrest the microphone away from the reporter, grabbing both of his arms and trying to pull him away, but the belligerent man struggled mercilessly. It finally ended with one of the cops being forced to withdraw his pepper spray and blasting it in the man's face, just as the other withdrew his stun gun and zapped him to the ground, only to follow up with repeated strikes from their nightsticks.

The scene switched over to the RCNN-13 newsroom where two anchors sat behind their desks.

_"And in other news-" _a blond-haired man spoke, only to stop a second later and tap his earpiece, _"Wait a minute; I'm receiving word of a late breaking event occurring live over at Churchill International Airport. We are now going live to Chet Nelson, our very own eye in the sky."_

Another scene of chaos appeared on the small screen before him, a bird's eye view of the Churchill International Airport, the very airport he had touched down in upon his arrival in the city.

Several pillars of thick black smoke rose from the middle of the airport's runway, which had now become a mass of overturned airliners, baggage trucks and other fragments of twisted metal destruction. The faint glow of flames could still be seen at the base of the initial explosion, nearly extinguished now thanks to the efforts of the firefighters below. Police helicopters circled overhead and several ambulances were parked alongside the fire engines, a line of black body bags seen near one of the water tankers.

_"Tom, I'm reporting live where a series of massive explosions have just occurred within the grounds of Churchill International Airport, disrupting any flights in and out of Rushmore City. According to eyewitness accounts an oil tanker came to a complete halt beneath a line of planes and exploded into one massive fireball. At this point there is no word on the exact number of casualties available and no word on if this was just an accident or a deliberate terrorist action._

_ "Until then the Federal Investigation Bureau and the National Office of Security Enforcement have stepped in and are investigating the matter. Until then, the airport has been placed under lockdown and there will be no flights until the green light has been given. Back to you Tom and Adele!"_

The newscasters were shown again, both displaying different reactions.

_"Looks like this incident will spell major trouble for Rushmore City, possibly leaving us isolated from the rest of the state," _the male newscaster spoke.

_"Good, then that means we're going to be free from all the wetbacks and drug-addled whores the Colombian Cartel imports here!" _the female reporter triumphantly proclaimed, _"Ha ha! That means my marriage is saved!"_

_ "Now Adele, remember you can't say stuff like that on the air. You're going to get us in trouble again!" _her male colleague said grabbing her by the shoulder.

_"Ha! You can't bow down to those limp dicked P.C. pansies forever!" _the female reporter shot back.

_"But your gardener, your nanny and your maid are all Colombian!" _the male anchor continued.

"Shit!" Artie grumbled to himself. The closing of the airport and possible blockades on the major highways meant he would be trapped in the rough and tumble city until further notice. After everything he had seen within the few moments he was here he found himself hoping this would be a simple in and out visit but now that was not to be.

The bartender jumped upon hearing Artie's voice and quickly spun around. When he saw his new customer appeared to be of no threat, his expression turned to one of bored neutrality.

"What'll it be?" he asked, his dull monotone indicating he showed little or no interest in his newest customer and wanted to get him served as soon as possible so he could return to watching the news.

"Uh, actually I'm not here for a drink-" Artie was in the middle of replying when the bartender reached beneath the counter with an unexpected lightning quick speed and pulled out a Remington 870 pump-action shotgun.

"Then what the fuck are you here for?" the bartender roared like a man possessed, his bright green eyes burning holes into Artie's soul as he shoved the gun into his face.

"Whoa there! Hey man, let's just take it easy and put the gun down! I was only looking for Gino Cappelli!" Artie shouted back waving his hands in front of him to show he was unarmed. "I was supposed to meet him here!"

"Who are you?" the bartender demanded, "You'd better not be another one of those fuckhead loan sharks!"

"Whoa, whoa Zeke put the gun down, he's cool!" a familiar voice called out from the background.

Artie looked towards the direction of the voice and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Holy shit, Gino is that you?"

"In the flesh good ol' Cousin Artie! In the flesh!" Giovanni 'Gino' Cappelli announced walking into view from a back room.

In contrast to his tall, athletic cousin, dark-haired cousin, the 40-year old Gino was short, plump and balding. At the moment he wore a cheap plaid sport coat that made him look like a used car salesman with a heavily-stained polo shirt underneath and a pair of brown dress slacks that barely covered his considerable gut.

"Cousin, it's been far too long!" Gino spoke as he walked over to give Artie a hearty embrace, "So how have you been Cuz? Did you have a safe trip in?"

"Uh, that's a story for a more private setting," Artie replied taking another look around the squalor he currently stood in. "So when do I get to see this fancy club of yours?"

Gino looked up to him in confusion, "What do you mean?"

Artie chuckled, "What I mean is when do I get to see that hip, happening nightclub you described to me in vivid detail so many times in the past? Why else would you want to meet me in a rancid shithole like this?" he said motioning to their surroundings, "Unless you just wanted to meet me someplace that's out of the way and where nobody would expect you, am I right?" he finished just as a rat scurried across the sticky tile floor.

"Uh, about that…" Gino started, looking away and tugging nervously at his collar as beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead.

The young bartender cleared his throat behind them, standing silent with his arms crossed in front of him and tapping his boot-wearing foot loudly.

"Oh where are my manners? Artie, this is Zeke Jones, one of my employees," Gino said motioning towards the younger man while looking off into a corner.

"Correction, I'm your _only_ employee!" Zeke proclaimed, "Everybody else is too scared to work here because of those dumbass Redcoats and all those loan sharks that have been giving you trouble."

"Your employee?" Artie asked furrowing his brow towards his shorter cousin, who giggled nervously in reply.

"Um, about that like I said…" Gino trailed off, darting his eyes back and forth between both men. "Listen, why don't I explain that to you now…alone," he said motioning towards the small room he emerged from where only now Artie noticed the word _'OFFICE' _in chipped, fading paint, along with some dried bloodstains from long ago.

The office was roughly the size of a broom closet, a quarters so cramped the portly Gino was barely able to get behind his cheap wooden desk and knocked over several stacks of papers and books in the process. Displayed prominently on the wall behind was a family portrait Artie had often seen growing up, one taken of him and his cousins Gino and Donnie, along with Uncle Leonardo and Aunt Sophia, when he had first gone to live with them twenty years ago. Aside from that, numerous old posters covered the ugly reddish-brown walls, much like they had in the main room. A bulb hanging from a brittle thread was the only source of light and an opened grate above showed off the rusted fan that provided ventilation, looking like it was ready to fall and slice into the owner's scalp at any given second.

"Gino, what the fuck is going on?" Artie asked his cousin as the shorter man collapsed into a swivel chair that barely supported his bulk.

"Y'know, you look a little tense Cuz, you really should take a seat," Gino sheepishly spoke, gesturing towards another flimsy chair in the corner across from him.

Artie ignored his cousin's attempt at hospitality and slapped a hand down onto his desk, "Gino, what the fuck is going on?" he repeated slowly speaking every word, wanting the acid to settle into his tone.

Gino cried out at his cousin's display of brute force and nearly fell backward, only to bang his head against the wall behind him.

"You told me you owned a nice nightclub that was the talk of the town, lived in a penthouse apartment over in Emerald Hill, had a garage full of sports cars, all sorts of women in your life and were rolling around in money…are you telling me this was one huge line of bullshit you've been feeding me all along?" Artie asked gripping the corners of the desk as his dark eyes bored holes into the older man's paper thin psyche.

"Uh…yes…everything you heard was one huge line of bullshit," Gino said looking a stack of unpaid bills in shame. "This seedy dive bar you before you is the 'nightclub' I told you about. The 'penthouse apartment' is the upstairs of this place, not to forget there's also the 'sort of apartment' in the storage room where Zeke lives, the 'garage full of sports cars' is a single car garage with an old Greenwood, and the only 'woman in my life' is Freda, the old whore who lives in the cardboard box out back. Trust me, for a quarter she can still give you the best blowjob around these parts!"

Artie shuddered in disgust and then punched the wall next to him, "Damn it! God fucking damn it! How could I be so fucking stupid enough to believe your line of bullshit?"

"Well hey; I gave you a Grade A bullshit!" Gino squeaked his protest.

"It's still bullshit plain and simple!" Artie shot back, silencing his weasel of a cousin and shook his head wildly, unable to pace within the confined space. "Goddamn it Gino, you should have told me the truth."

"But then you wouldn't have come to visit!" Gino said placing his elbows on the desk and letting his head collapse into his opened palms.

Artie sighed heavily and finally collapsed into the chair Gino had pointed out for him, "What is it? What's wrong now? It had better be pretty fucking important for you to entice my Guido ass over here."

Gino looked up and stared at him worriedly before shifting his gaze back and forth towards both walls, almost like he expected evil spirits to pop out.

"C'mon, you can tell me Cuz. I'm already here so you might as well spill it," Artie said before shifting through his thoughts and remembering what Zeke had said, "Does this have anything to do with what Zeke said about those 'loan sharks' or whatever?"

Gino nodded sheepishly and clenched his hands together tightly, "Obviously you can see that this place isn't the moneymaker you expected it to be and because of that, I haven't been able to pay up on certain things: rent, utility, alimony, hookers…"

"Bella cleaned you out _that_ bad?" Artie asked dumbfounded.

"Uh…heh heh that's a long story for another time," Gino said rubbing the back of his neck, "but anyway, I sort of had to take out a few little loans with some guy named Johnny Sneed…okay they weren't 'little' but you get my point…"

"And just who the hell is this Johnny Sneed fellow?" Artie asked relaxing in the flimsy chair the best he could, "Is he the loan shark?"

Gino's gaze darkened and his jaw clenched shut. It took a few minutes, but he finally willed himself to speak.

"Yep, that's him alright. Johnny Sneed runs the Shyster Savings and Loan Bank, but he's really a scumbag who's practically got the entire island under his thumb. Practically everybody I know at least owes him something. Honest to God, I'd be able to cough up the money if those goddamned Redcoats weren't around to cause trouble. Christ, they're another reason I can't get any business around here!"

"I know what you're talking about. I saw firsthand what those fuckers did over on Chesterfield. I barely escaped and then ran into a few more of those bastards," Artie explained as his voice grew lower at the mention of those ruffians. "I tried to fight them off, but there were four of them. They took my money, my clothes, my cell phone and even the Crowex that Uncle Leo gave me," he said pulling back his sleeve to show his bare wrist.

"I'm surprised they spared your ass if you tried fighting back. Those guys aren't human, they're fucking animals!" Gino blurted out with a pronounced shudder, "Them and the others…"

"What others?" Artie said placing a hand on his chin. He could recall seeing the Redcoats firing at those men in the blue vests and then remembered the one who came crashing through the cab's windshield.

"Too damn many, this island alone is a fucking zoo," Gino snorted, "Here on Lincoln you have the Redcoats, the Aces, the Hellcats, the Uptown Yardies and Cubanos Locos. Over on Washington you have the Banditelli Mafia, the High Ryderz, Russians and freaking Triads. In Jefferson Vale it's a bunch of bored rich kids called the Gold Valley Preps and some Satanists who call themselves the Brood, look like those punks you see around a Crimson Matters, and then a couple biker gangs, some right-wing survivalists over in Roosevelt Hills, the Avenging Angels, the Colombian freaking Cartel, and a couple wannabes who think they're something just because they own a gun. In other words, this place is a haven for gangs!"

"Damn, now I can see why business sucks around here," Artie scoffed, "all those gangs and that Sneed fellow."

"You're goddamned right things suck because of that Sneed fellow!" Gino shouted slapping his desk and rising to his feet, "I tell you that Johnny Sneed is a fucking snake in the grass! He'd sell his own mother for a dime! He's the biggest fucking prick known to man! He's a dickless fucking asshole! He's the lowest form of shit known to all mankind-"

The office door suddenly flew open and Artie cried out in pain as he was struck hard, finding himself sandwiched between the door and the wall.

"Now Gino is that any way to be talking about one of your oldest and dearest friends?" a slick voice called out.

Artie pushed the door aside to find a man who stood a few inches shorter than him casually taking a seat on his cousin's desk. The man had short, slicked back brown hair and a narrow face with prominent eyebrows over dark brown eyes, wearing a dark green suit, pink dress shirt, black tie and a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots.

"Why hello Johnny, it's good to see you again!" Gino laughed nervously as the beads of sweat on his forehead turned into a waterfall of perspiration. "Would you like me to get you a drink?"

"Why yes I would," Johnny Sneed said reaching over and grabbing Gino by the collar, pulling him so they were nose to nose, "A drink I like to call 'Where's my fucking money?' I believe you're now five months overdue. When are you going to pay up? Or do I have to make an example out of you like I did those chinks over at Mr. Fuk's?"

"J-J-Johnny now l-l-l-listen to m-me! I w-was g-g-g-going to p-p-pay you, but those d-d-damned Redcoats t-t-took the m-money as p-p-p-pro-protection!" Gino stammered, "I honestly had it, b-b-but they said they'd c-c-c-cut off my d-dick if I didn't hand it over!"

"And I'm gonna be the one cutting off that tiny dick of yours if you don't fucking pay up!" the loan shark roared and shoved the smaller man against the wall, sending him falling out of his chair.

"Alright, that's enough!" Artie said shrugging off the pain and getting in the suited man's face, catching him by surprise. It didn't last long as the man quickly composed himself and chuckled heartily.

"Johnny Sneed," the slimy man said offering a hand, "and just who might you be, friend?"

"What's it to you?" Artie spat venomously, getting further in the man's face.

"Whoa, whoa now Artie, just chill out," Gino said pulling himself onto his desk and looking over to his visitor, "I'm sorry about that Johnny; my cousin is a little shy around newcomers. Don't worry though; he's not like this for long. He's actually a nice guy once you get to know him better!"

"So you're the cousin Gino has told me all about," Johnny said looking over to the family photo now hanging at an awkward angle on the wall. "I must say Mr. Cappelli, it truly is an honor to finally meet you in the flesh."

"The feelings aren't mutual dipshit!" Artie growled and raised a fist to strike the loan shark, but Johnny was quicker and snapped his fingers.

Three brawny men appeared in the office doorway and stared menacingly towards Artie. Despite being six feet two inches in height, being in good physical condition and having received some training in boxing and karate, he knew these brutes could easily take him down and he backed away from the green-suited man.

"I'd learn to watch my tongue if I were you," Johnny hissed, "my friends over there don't like people disrespecting me and they won't hesitate to rip your arms off and beat you to death with them if I command it!"

Johnny then turned his attention back to Gino, "And they sure as hell won't hesitate to wreck your 'humble establishment' if I tell them to either!"

With a whistle the three hired guns sprang into action.

"No don't!" Gino screamed.

One of the thugs walked over to the passed out trucker and with little required effort, lifted the man from his seat and tossed him through one of the windows as if he were a rag doll.

The other two nameless goons wasted no time in grabbing the couple from the booth and tossing them to the floor before they went to work overturning tables and chairs, smashing lighting fixtures, tossing barstools against the bottle racks (forcing Zeke to take cover behind the counter with his hands over his head), overturning pool tables and smashing arcade games. One of the thugs entered the men's room and practically flung the drunken patron across the room, sending him skidding across the slippery floor and right through the front door.

In the end it looked as if a miniature cyclone had torn a path of destruction through the establishment, leaving Artie, Gino and Zeke to stare silently in disbelief.

Johnny cackled insanely at the dirty deed committed by his henchmen, "You see Gino my friend, this is what happens when you don't pay up! Let this be a lesson because next time I won't be as generous!" The four men disappeared through the front door and the squeal of tires signaled their exit.

"Oh god," Gino groaned before his legs turned to rubber and he found himself collapsing backward, only to be caught by his cousin. Zeke rushed out from behind the counter to help Artie drag the suffering proprietor over to the nearest booth.

"I take it you see those clowns around quite a bit, huh?" Artie grunted under the weight of his cousin's bulbous frame before finally easing him into the booth.

"You don't know the half of it," Zeke sighed, "usually they're kind enough to order a drink before they start smashing everything in sight."

"Well you weren't too shy about pulling that shotgun of yours on me, why not him?" Artie asked eying the shotgun resting on the countertop.

Zeke waited until they were far enough from Gino's earshot before speaking, "Are you fucking kidding me? That guy belongs to the Banditellis, the most powerful gang in all of Rushmore City! If I put a hole in his face they'd be all over me like the plague! Not only that they'd probably torch this place to the ground along with the rest of Hymen Avenue!"

"Well somebody's gotta do something about that cocksucker," Artie spoke looking back to his cousin, "Somebody's gotta show him he can't just go pushing around whomever he pleases, especially if it's a Cappelli involved."

"Good luck, you'd need an entire fucking army for that," Zeke said shaking his head.

An electronic ringing distracted the two men from their conversation and they looked over to see Gino stirring awake, reaching lazily into his pocket as he somehow managed to pull the phone out right away and placed it to his ear.

"Hello there, Gino Cappelli, your official purveyor of pleasure speaking…" the portly man slurred as if he were answering the phone from his bed. A second later, the man's eyes shot wide open.

"Wait Donnie slow down!" he shouted, "You're where? Because you did what? Oh goddamn it Donnie, you and your fucking binge drinking and a dick that never rests!" Gino shouted to his unseen caller, "No I can't help you out…because that dick faced piece of shit Johnny Sneed was over here again! Okay, okay calm down, Artie can help you out!"

Artie's head perked up at the mention of his name and he looked over to Zeke, "Looks like Donnie's gotten himself into trouble again," he said referring to his other cousin.

"Yes, Artie's in town. I'm sure he'd love to see you again. Okay, I'll send him right over," Gino said snapping his phone shut, resisting the urge to throw it against the nearest wall.

"Donnie?" Artie asked.

"Donnie got himself into another drunken brawl over yet another woman and he's in the clink," Gino sighed rubbing his tired face with both hands. "He's gonna need somebody to pick his sorry ass up over at the station house in Victor and I told him you'd do it Artie."

"Hot damn, that's like the tenth woman this week. I wouldn't be surprised if the S.T.D.'s were fighting for supremacy already," Zeke chuckled.

Artie shot him a disarming glare and then returned his attention to Gino, "Fine, I'll do it!"

"That a boy!" Gino said reaching into his pocket and tossing a set of keys to Artie, "Those are the keys to my Greenwood in the garage out back. He'll probably want you to drop him off at his place," the elder Cappelli cousin explained before reaching into his other pocket, "and before I forget, here's a cell phone you can keep. It's got my number in it already!"

"Alright, I'll see to it that he gets back safe and sound," Artie said offering a final wave before disappearing through the bar's front door.

_"Things are already going from bad to worse," _Artie told himself as he looked over to see the drunken trucker still lying on the sidewalk, rolling around as if he were still in bed, ignorant of all the sounds around him. Meanwhile, the drunk from the men's room had already risen back to his feet and was shuffling back towards the bar letting out a zombie-like moan as he made his way inside.

_"I come here and I find myself caught in the crossfire of a gang battle and then I get robbed of everything except my underwear. Not only that, I'm trapped in a gang-infested shithole thanks to some raghead assholes._

_ "As if that's not bad enough, I have one cousin who's a two-bit liar and could find himself sleeping with the fishes within a matter of days if he can't cough up God knows how much cash for that Sneed prick and then I've got another who is nothing more than an alcoholic womanizer._

_ "Oh yeah, it's just GREAT to be Artie Cappelli right now," _he thought to himself making his way around the bar and to the back alley, where he found the aforementioned garage and the dirty, rusted Greenwood resting inside.

"C'mon Artie, you've survived worse in the past," he whispered to himself, "You've gotta at least get yourself out of this mess alive."

"Hey there sonny…" a grating, high-pitched squawk came from behind him followed by a harsh coughing fit, "…ya' wanna good time?" it choked out again before nearly hacking up a lung.

"What the fuck?" Artie blurted out as he whirled around and soon found himself wishing he hadn't.

Standing before him was a woman who could have been no older than her forties, yet she already had wrinkles upon wrinkles, a tangled mop of gray hair and a mouth full of chipped yellow teeth. The ratty old clothes she wore looked like patchwork, as if somebody had blown up a bunch of hobos and sewn them all together to create her.

"Fucking sick!" Artie screamed as she attempted to put her arm around him and threw himself backwards to create some space between the two of them. The 'woman's' stench alone made his stomach nearly do a triple somersault, especially after a glass prosthesis fell out of her left eye socket.

"Yer quite the feisty one…" she gagged, "…ready to fuck when ya' haven't even paid yet!" she spoke in that aged, grating tone that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, or like the Nasty Necromancer of the North from 'Warlock of Woz.'

"No way, get away from me you freak!" Artie shouted, not even bothering to shove her away and instead leaping to the side as she lunged for him. With the abomination down for the count, he bolted for the Greenwood and threw himself inside, switching on the car and then turning the radio's volume all the way up as the air filled with the upbeat techno sounds of Techno Playground FM.

Shifting the car into reverse he slammed the gas pedal down, not caring if he ran the old whore over on the way out.

_"Okay, so my day has officially gotten even worse than before!" _Artie told himself as he gripped the wheel with white knuckle fury and peeled out of the alley onto a busy street, cutting off a '92 Karin Futo as he sped away, _"Christ, I can't believe Gino would ever allow something like _that_ within a one-hundred foot radius of him. Breaking up with Bella must have had that much of a traumatizing effect on him. He's probably got freaking Hepatitis and God knows what else by now!"_

Taking a sharp right turn onto another street he nearly clipped a taxi, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible so he could get himself a few hours of well-deserved rest.

_"Maybe Gino's lying to me again. That Freda bitch has to be the reason business sucks…God, I shouldn't even be saying 'suck' when thinking about that…thing."_

Author's Note: And so ends another installment of "Rushmore City" a.k.a. "the new and improved version of Capitol City!"

Okay so onto the random shit, I know how Afro Spirit likes to base some of his O.C.'s off of actual actors and if I had to physically base Johnny Sneed off of anybody, I would say he looks like Walton Goggins, the guy who played Stans, the death row inmate from "Predators." Zeke Jones I would say looks like Anton Yelchin, but with a punk-inspired hairstyle. Gino I would say is supposed to look like Doc McGhee, the manager of KISS, Motley Crue and Bon Jovi, who has been featured on "Gene Simmons' Family Jewels." Old Freda is supposed to look like Carol Kane during her portrayal of Valerie in "The Princess Bride."

Onto the parodies, Crimson Matters is a spoof of Hot Topic, the Nasty Necromancer of the North is a parody of the Wicked Witch of the West and the Warlock of Woz is a spoof of "The Wizard of Oz."

I also wanted to give a special thanks to Afro Spirit and Native Gunz for providing the first two reviews!

Well that's it for now on my part so until then read and review or else Old Freda is coming to get you!

This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	3. My Cousin Donnie

Chapter 3: My Cousin Donnie

_"The absolute last place I'd ever wanna visit," _Artie Cappelli told himself as he pulled to a halt outside the police station. He switched the car off and sat for a few minutes staring silently at the ivory edifice, feeling as if it were calling out and mocking him.

"Goddamn you Donnie," he muttered opening the door and stepped out, never taking his eyes away from the building the entire time. Only when he took notice of the nearby parking meter did he dare look away, but then realized he had no pocket change. _"Fuck it; I'm not worrying about that. Let's get this over with," _he thought making his way up the stairs.

Before he could even reach for the door handle, Artie found himself nearly knocked over as four uniformed officers rushed past him making their way for their squad cars, switching on their lights and sirens before bolting down the street and disappearing from sight.

"Assholes," the young man grumbled making his way inside, reminded of one of the many reasons he hated cops so much.

The building's main lobby was enveloped by a flurry of activity as one officer struggled with a freshly arrested prostitute and another small group struggled to restrain a shirtless muscle bound thug, who had managed to pick up one of the officers and toss him through a nearby office window. It took repeated blasts from more than one taser to finally put him down.

Now Artie really wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. He made his way over to the front desk, where the receptionist struggled to answer more than one phone simultaneously.

"Uh, excuse me!" Artie said waving his hand hoping to get her attention.

The woman squinted towards him as she left one phone resting between her head and shoulder while struggling to dial another. "How may I help you?" she grunted between efforts.

"I'm here to pick up Donnie Cappelli. I'm his cousin," Artie answered.

The receptionist suddenly dropped her phones and shoved a clipboard into his hands containing the needed paperwork for his cousin's release.

"You're here for that asshole?" she asked, "Go ahead and get him outta here as quickly as you can. That drunken pervert has been hitting on all the female officers at every given opportunity. He told me I'd be waiving my right to remain silent after I handled his 'lethal weapon.' I swear if you don't get him out soon enough we'll be facing more than one police brutality lawsuit."

"Uh yeah, I get it," Artie replied, shaking his head as he began to sign the release forms, _"Forever the skirt chaser you are Donnie Boy."_

As soon as the forms were filled out the receptionist called the holding area and within minutes Donnie was escorted to the lobby by two officers.

Donatello 'Donnie' Cappelli closely resembled his cousin Artie and it was often suspected by many that it was he who was and Artie who were brothers, not him and Gino. The 31 year old was an inch shorter than his cousin and had matching hair that he wore much shorter, plus he displayed a perpetual toothy grin in contrast to his more reserved relative. At the moment his left eye was almost completely swollen shut, a bandage covered his right cheek and another was plastered across his forehead. He wore a dark blue dress shirt that had been ripped in a few spots and displayed bloodstains from his recent skirmish, as well as a pair of black dress slacks with a tear over the right knee and had both his loafers split open at the soles.

The older Cappelli stared intently at his cousin and then rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't caught in another drunken hallucination.

"Artie? Holy sheep shit, Gino wasn't lying! You really are here Cuz!" he shouted running over to give his cousin a hearty embrace.

"Ugh yeah, I'm happy to see you too Donnie!" Artie croaked as he could feel his ribs being crushed, not expecting such power from his cousin.

"It's fuckin' great to see ya' Cuz! Welcome to Rushmore City, home of wine, women and lotsa' action!" he cousin boomed, waving his arms around and incurring several odd looks from the surrounding officers.

"Uh yeah Donnie, can we go now?" Artie asked yanking impatiently on the man's tattered sleeve.

Donnie didn't reply immediately and looked his cousin up and down, "Jeez, what the fuck happened to ya'?"

"Excuse me?" Artie asked.

"Look at you Cuz, you're dressed like a freakin' bum!" Donnie said motioning to his cousin's red track suit, "And what the fuck's up with that hair? Christ, you look like one of those Emo fags!"

Hey!" Artie retorted raising a fist, having to do everything humanly possible to not strike his own flesh and blood. "Why the fuck do you have to be ragging on my hair already? At least I've got a full head of it unlike Gino!" he spoke, running a hand through his ear-length hair.

"Well you still look like a fag!" Donnie replied, "Christ, it'll only be a matter of time before you get somebody wanting to buy you a pair of leather pants and some Culture Club C.D.s! We've gotta change that and fast!"

"And just how do you suggest we do that?" Artie asked with great annoyance as they made their way through the station's front doors and down the steps towards Gino's waiting Greenwood.

"There's this big titted minx who cuts my hair over at the Hair Game salon in Sawyer Gardens. I'll hook you up with a free haircut and then I'll take you over to the Didier Sachs across the street. Now let's get our asses in gear," Donnie said clapping his hands together as he waited for Artie to get inside and unlock the passenger side door.

"And you base this on the direction your dick points?" Artie grunted as his cousin climbed inside.

"Ha ha, real funny," Donnie replied sliding on his seatbelt, "I'd take you over to the Perseus, but the guy there's a little 'fruity in the booty' if you catch my drift."

"Heh, how would you know that? There something you ain't telling me?" Artie chuckled as he started the car.

"Just shut up and fuckin' move! Christ, I could be having a threesome with two M.I.L.F.s in the time it takes you to shift into drive," Donnie snapped back as he switched the radio over to the Beatbox 102 hip-hop station, which was currently playing "Me & U" by Cassie, to which he began singing along in a high-pitched voice and causing Artie to shudder.

"Whatever!" Artie boomed as he pulled into traffic and came to a stop at a red light.

"So how's your stay been so far?" Donnie asked, looking off to the side and observing the people walking down the streets.

"Well let's see," Artie started, "I show up right in the middle of a gang fight and nearly get killed, get beaten down and have everything except my underwear taken, found out Gino's been lying to me this entire time, claiming to be a big time nightclub owner when all he really has is nothing more than a shithole dive…and then on top of it, I have to sit down and watch him get shaken down by some cocksucker named Johnny Sneed! If you ask me, it's been 'just peachy' dear cousin!" he bellowed, leaving out the part where he was nearly raped by that 'thing' in the back alley.

"Damn, you didn't know The Little Black Book was a shithole?" Donnie asked staring back at him dumbfounded, "Christ, if that bitch of an ex of his hadn't taken him to the cleaners the way she did, he'd at least be able to afford some H.D. TVs and a few stripper poles to liven the pace up."

"And what do you do for a living?" Artie asked before catching himself, "Oh wait, after the line of bullshit Gino just fed me I doubt I should even be asking!"

Donnie had been ready to reply, but was cut off before the effort could be made. He only stared at Artie before shrugging and crossing his arms, "Okay fine," he said lying back against his seat.

After an uneventful drive across the Eastwood Bridge the cousins found themselves on Washington Dell, more specifically the high-end retail district of Sawyer Gardens, which was populated by expensive boutiques, jewelry stores, salons, bistros, art galleries, a wide open park filled with various metal sculptures, and even a gay bar called Golden Boys, a far cry from the filth of Lincoln Island.

Around here the people seemed to be much happier too. Businessmen were walking around on their cell phones making last minute deals, several families could be seen enjoying picnics in the nearby park, and young couples were out having fun, there was even an artist painting a picture of the city's bay at sunlight. It was a welcoming atmosphere that left Artie feeling a little more at ease, until he spotted a purple Broadway lowrider where an African-American man dressed in a purple pimp outfit strolled through the area with a heavily made up young lady in the passenger seat.

_"Looks like this area isn't as free of the slime from Lincoln Island as I thought it would be," _Artie thought as he pulled up outside the Hair Game salon.

"Alright Cuz, this is the place. Now let's hurry up and save you from the Hershey Highway Patrol," Donnie said quickly making his way inside, moving as if he were the one about to receive a haircut.

Artie followed closely behind, taking in the smells of various hair care products, body lotions and incense, making it the most pleasant environment he had been in during his brief stay in Rushmore.

Already Donnie was hard at work flirting with the 'big titted minx,' who turned out to be an attractive brunette of Puerto Rican descent named Evie, her short stylishly cut hair and exotic green eyes making Artie smile as he checked her out.

"Oh hey Evie, this is my cousin Artie! Artie, this is Evie," Donnie said motioning back and forth between the two people before taking a ten dollar bill and placing it between the stylist's ample cleavage. "Give him exactly what you give me…haircut-wise that is!"

"Sure thing," Evie cooed, taking the bill and placing it into her pocket before grabbing an apron, "Alright sweetie, right here," she said gesturing towards the swivel chair and waiting for him to take a seat, "Looks like it'll be a little off the sides and back."

"Uh…" before Artie could utter another word, the stylist moved with almost superhuman speed, _"Great, just what I need to be…Donnie version 2.0."_

"Ta da," Evie called out, whirling the chair around for Artie to view his new look. Surely enough he found himself possessing the same kind of buzz cut as his cousin, making it even harder to discern the two of them, unless you take into account the 'shit eating grin' the elder Cappelli wore as if his face were frozen that way. "Wow, you look much better now. I'll have to set you up with my cousin sometime. She works over at the Gazangas in Blue Hook. I know you'd like her," she said with a seductive wink.

"Uh sure…thanks!" Artie spoke walking over to his cousin and the two of them made their way out.

"Call me!" Donnie shouted back as they stepped out onto the street, their next destination was across the street and they bolted across when the crazy motorists left enough space.

Right away the two men found themselves stopped by the doorman when he took a look at the cheap tracksuit Artie wore, "Sir, I think you might have the wrong place. The nearest Binco is-"

"It's okay, he's with me Gunnar," Donnie said raising a hand to the doorman.

"Oh, that's you Donnie? Sorry about that, I didn't recognize you with the bandages. What happened? Were you in an accident?" Gunnar the doorman asked.

"If you consider being hit in the face with a martini glass an 'accident,' then yes," Donnie replied, "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a cousin who needs his cousin's expert advice."

"You didn't have to bring me here," Artie whispered, "Seriously, you could've taken me to a Binco or SubUrban and I would've been happy."

Donnie cocked an eyebrow at him, "Are you kidding me? You're a fucking Cappelli man! We roll in style, well I don't know about Gino, but Donnie Cappelli rolls in style! Now let's find you some decent clothes," he said yanking his cousin along by the arm.

"Whatever you say," Artie replied with a roll of his eyes in defeat.

Being led around by his cousin, right away Donnie rounded up several pairs of dress slacks and shirts for him, a sport coat, few extra pair of socks and boxers, a pair of fancy dress shoes and as an afterthought, a decorative leather watch band, some black shades and a gold cross chain.

"Alright, I think I've got everything I need for the time being," Artie said making his way over to the checkout counter, where he was met by a dark-haired young woman dressed entirely in black, who despite her prominent black eye shadow and matching lipstick, still appeared to be very attractive.

"Hey Jade what's up?" Donnie asked approaching the cashier, who offered an uninterested wave as he pulled out his credit card, "Charge it to my account," he said with a wink.

The young woman offered a stifled sigh just as his phone rang and he looked down to the caller ID screen, "Hey take all the time you need. I need to answer this call. Meet you outside!" he said to his cousin before turning his attention to Jade, "And I'll definitely be seeing you later," he said making his way.

Artie turned his attention to the cashier, who shook her head in disgust as Donnie disappeared from sight.

"I'm terribly sorry about my cousin," Artie spoke leaning towards her, "He's always been the kind to think more with his dick. I'm deeply sorry if he's troubled you any."

The dark-clad woman stared at him before nodding in acknowledgment, "Yeah you're right, that creep's always hitting on me the second he walks in. I know his type, always thinking of little excuses to enter a shop they normally wouldn't for the purpose of scoring some ass. Last week, it was him losing his great-aunt and he needed a suit for her funeral, tried to get me to get his measurements so he'd have an excuse for being felt up by something that has boobs."

"Yep, that sounds like Donnie," Artie replied with a roll of his eyes.

The cashier snickered slightly at his reply before offering a hand, "I'm Jade by the way. I haven't seen you around here before. Are you new?"

"Arthur Cappelli, you can call me Artie," he announced returning her handshake, "I'm just in town visiting for now…although I've got a feeling I might be here a whole lot longer than expected given those N.O.O.S.E. assholes quarantining us here like we're carrying some deadly plague.

"Well I guess I'll be seeing you around then," Jade replied, "given the way your asshole cousin likes to come in here and hit on me."

"Never mind him. If he tries anything funny in the future I'll be sure to put him in his place," Artie said taking his bags.

"Believe me, I'm glad you don't share his oversized libido," she said with a wave.

"And believe me, a lot of people are," Artie shouted back as he stepped onto the street hefting three bags full of new clothes and looked over to see Donnie casually reclining against the Greenwood, placing his phone back into his pocket as he took notice of his returning cousin.

"Dude, I'm starving," he announced rubbing his tummy, "If you're up for it I'm in the mood for some pizza. Normally I wouldn't settle for such a 'low level establishment,' but why don't we stop at the Well Stacked Pizza over in Crystal Waters," Donnie suggested as he climbed into the passenger's seat, "It's the closest and I'm going to fucking eat a Vietnamese whore, and not in the way I normally would, if I don't get something soon."

"You got it," Artie replied, finally agreeing with one of his cousin's suggestions. He hadn't been able to enjoy a proper meal since touching down in Rushmore City, aside from a bag of the ever present airline peanuts. He didn't want to eat much, except a huge all you can eat buffet at Gino's nonexistent nightclub. Firing up the car he again pulled out into traffic and proceeded towards their next destination.

"Did you see the way that Jade chick was staring at me?" Donnie asked excitedly, "I swear I might have to take up that Wicca crap or whatever all those Goth chicks follow. Up my chances at least."

"Yeah, sure it will," Artie again rolled his eyes as he made his way towards another stoplight that had been green and waiting for him to pass, until he was forced to slam on the brakes.

A dark blue Washington sped through the intersection followed closely by a police cruiser that had its lights on and sirens blaring.

"Inbred fuckers," Donnie hollered out the window before Artie could step on the gas and resume their trek.

The drive to Crystal Waters hadn't taken much longer and the cousins pulled to a stop outside the Well Stacked Pizza parlor, where a majority of the patrons were sitting outside, standing around on cigarette breaks, chatting on their cell phones, working on their laptops or other small leisurely activities.

"I could eat an entire yak right now," Donnie said pushing through the double doors, "jail does that to you y'know."

"Heh, at least now you're talking about wanting to eat something you can't fuck," Artie replied not wanting to get further into the 'jail' subject.

"Har har har, always the comedian," Donnie replied as they stepped into a filthy restaurant that was especially packed for the early evening hours, finding their knees nearly clipped out from underneath them by a hyperactive toddler and a desperate mother fighting to restrain him before he could tear the place apart.

Fortunately for them there wasn't much activity going on towards the front where the counters were. They walked up and found themselves standing behind a morbidly obese woman in a matching white dress shirt and skirt that both had black spots on them, literally making her look like a cow. She even smelled like food as layers of sweat visibly dripped down every inch of her exposed skin. The cow-like woman breathed heavily before taking her order.

"Yeah, I'd like one of your Liberty style meat lover's family-sized pizzas, three orders of mozzarella sticks, two orders of your authentic Sicilian-style breadsticks with extra marinara sauce, one meatball sub…and an orange Sprunk soda please!"

"Will that be everything?" asked the pimple-faced cashier.

"Yes please, I gotta keep my girlish figure…or else the hubby goes back to that Fernando guy…" the woman spoke taking the bags full of food.

"Some poor loser actually married _that_?" Donnie whispered to Artie, "Heh, wouldn't that qualify as bestiality right there?" he snickers the last part, doing everything he could to not be heard for fear of being crushed under her countless folds of fat.

"Okay, thank you and come again!" the cashier called out in a high, nasally tone that reeked of pubescence.

"Oh she'll be back alright…as soon as you restock everything," Donnie laughed.

"Fuck you asshole!" the woman scowled back.

"I would if I knew you weren't gonna crush me," the elder Cappelli shot back.

"Donnie, forget about her!" Artie hissed, forcefully turning his cousin around and pointing him towards the counter, where the cashier stared nervously at both of them.

"May I take your order?" the cashier squeaked, his nametag identifying him as 'Ernie.'

"Yeah, I'll just take a Double D-Luxe and a Funkin' Screw," Artie said.

"And I'll take a Full Rack with extra marinara sauce and a Lemon Sprunk," Donnie said placing a twenty dollar bill on the counter.

The cashier said nothing as he accepted the bill and offered their change with a shaky hand.

As soon as they got their trays Donnie led the way over to an empty booth and they sat down together.

"I wonder what kind of shit I'm going to find in here today," the older Cappelli cousin absentmindedly uttered aloud while lifting the slices of pepperoni to make sure nothing was hidden underneath. "Great no bugs or anything. Not that it's really any of your business, but the last time I came here I found a used condom baked in underneath the cheese!" he half-shouted, loud enough to attract a disgusted glance from the people ahead of them.

"Gee, thanks for sharing that…" Artie replied now feeling sick to his stomach as he stared down at the food before him, worried of what he was going to find.

"So what were you doing last back in Liberty?" Donnie asked before taking a big bite from his pizza slice, "Weren't you doing construction for a while?"

"That was back in San Andreas," Artie said as he finally worked up the nerve to take a bite from one of the mozzarella sticks he was given, breathing a sigh of relief to see it was well-baked just as he had wanted. "That was a few years back."

"Really? I thought you'd be able to get a better job than that after studying business management," Donnie said taking a swig of his Sprunk.

"I got expelled remember?" Artie sighed with yet another roll of his eyes, "I was at this frat party and some drunken asses started shit with me. In the end, let's just say it required a S.W.A.T. team to diffuse the situation and the next day I'm getting my ass thrown out the door."

Donnie whistled, "Damn, I knew the Cappelli pride ran deep, but I had no idea it would be that deeply ingrained."

"Yeah, I did a lot of things in Liberty…some legal, some not so much. Basically I got money any way I could," Artie replied staring out the nearby window to avoid eye contact with his cousin.

"Eh, don't worry about it Cuz, I'll help you find something. I've got contacts all over this city. What's family for?" Donnie chuckled, accidentally slapping his container of mozzarella sticks onto the sticky floor. Daring his eyes around to make sure nobody else was looking, he quickly scooped them up and began eating them like nothing happened, again forcing Artie to nearly vomit.

"I appreciate your offer, but no thanks. I wanna make a fresh start for myself, but I wanna do it under my own terms," Artie replied.

Knowing he had to eat, he closed his eyes and thought of himself as being out in a beautiful, tranquil meadow before taking his first bite. He then reached over for his soda and took a sip. It was lukewarm, yet he needed it and wasn't going to ask for another.

"Suit yourself," Donnie said before taking another vociferous bite from his pizza slice, spraying both tomato sauce and greasy juices all over his dark button up shirt.

The double doors flew open and three men came waltzing in, led by an African-American male in a navy blue beanie and black and burgundy colored jacket.

"Aw'right, let's get some grub and get outta here!" the leader called out, stopping midway to the counter as he caught sight of the Cappelli Cousins and shot a finger in Donnie's direction.

"Hey! I know you! You're the bitch that's been messin' with my woman over the internet!" he hollered and on cue his two friends approached where they sat.

"Donnie, what the hell did you do now?" Artie groaned as his cousin retreated into the corner of his bench, doing whatever he could to make himself as small as possible.

"The bitch has been fuckin' my woman that's what!" the leader shouted, answering his question for him as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a butterfly knife, prompting frightened cries from a few of the other patrons. "Now I'm gonna cut his fuckin' dick off and shove it down his fuckin' throat!"

"You owe me for this!" Artie hissed to his cousin before springing from his bench and driving his fist into the leader's stomach, following up with a left-handed uppercut to the man's jaw and knocking the knife out of his hands.

Most of the patrons began to flee in terror, while a few stood around too stunned to move. An overweight college student with a backpack had pulled out his camera phone and proceeded to record the ensuing melee, while Ernie the Cashier managed to sneak over to the nearest phone and dial 911.

The second thug, a white man with his shaved head covered by a Rushmore City Statesmen baseball cap, managed to get a right hook in on Artie and sent him staggering back. He tried to follow up with a haymaker, but Artie had recovered in time to flip him over his shoulder and send him crashing through a nearby table.

The last thug, another African-American male with his hair worn in cornrows, tried to kick Artie, but the young man delivered a flurry of punches to his stomach and later face to send him stumbling over a half-full bucket of water.

"Bitch gonna get fucked up!" the leader shouted, by now having risen back to his feet and reclaimed his butterfly knife, taking a swipe at his enemy.

The man was slow though and Artie easily caught him with a knee to the stomach and then twisted his arm behind him, breaking it in three places before wresting the knife from his grip and sending him flying through the nearest window.

A police siren blared in the distance and both Cappelli cousins looked to one another.

"Bail!" Donnie shouted and the two cousins ran out of the restaurant towards Gino's car.

"Dude, this is so going on MeTube!" the chubby college student giggled excitedly.

Both men threw themselves inside and Artie pulled an abrupt U-turn, cutting off an oncoming Linerunner semi, and peeled down the street.

"For Pete's sake how many women have you boned in this city?" Artie hollered over the radio as he made an abrupt turn that fishtailed another car before he dared to slow down.

"Uh let's see…" Donnie said beginning to count on his hand, "there's that guy's girlfriend, Evie from the hair salon, some cop's wife…no more than one cop's wife…the one dancer from Woody's Topless Bar and Grill, that Madame Ovary who runs her own psychic hotline, the mayor's secretary that he was already fucking anyway, Cindy, Lacey, Tracy…"

"Ah forget it!" Artie growled as he finally brought the car to a halt at an intersection as the light turned red, confident they were out of sight. Donnie's phone suddenly rang and he picked it up.

"Here's on right now," he said switching the phone on, "Hey Amethyst baby, what's up? Not much on my end here, just chillin' with my cousin…oh you're needing to be taught a lesson tonight are you?" he asked, his voice lowering into his best attempt at sounding seductive.

"Goddamn it…" Artie muttered to himself as the light turned green.

"Alright, yeah I can be over to pick you up…yes my cousin can drive us over to my place! Alright? Okay, I'll talk to you later gorgeous. Bye bye!" Donnie said slapping his phone shut and looking over to his cousin.

"Let me guess, you want me to drive you over there and pick up some other random slut?" Artie groaned.

"Hey, this ain't no random slut we're talkin' about here Cuz, this is freakin' Amethyst, the star attraction over at Queen Sheba's Revue! Can you believe I'm actually bangin' the main attraction over there?" Donnie asked, his tone becoming frenzied.

"Fine, where do I find this Queen Sheba's place?" Artie asked, resisting the urge to bang his head repeatedly on the steering wheel.

"It's over in the Red Light District, you can't miss the place once you find it," Donnie replied as "Rollout (My Business)" by Ludacris came on the radio and he rolled down the window and began drumming his hand against the car door along with the beat.

_"Looks like Artie Cappelli is once again destined to become nothing more than a freakin' lapdog," _he thought to himself driving on the Eastwood Bridge back to the industrial shithole of Lincoln Island, following Donnie's directions until they reached the Red Light District.

"Okay we're here. It's not too far away," Donnie announced as Artie pulled into a part of the island where the skyline was dominated by bright neon signs and the gritty, filth-covered and boarded up buildings were replaced by brightly painted edifices matching the colors of most of the signs above. The car's clock indicated it was almost 8 o'clock and already the hookers and pimps were out in full force.

"Okay Donnie…Donnie?" Artie looked over to see his cousin already drooling over some of the bustier women milling about and was about to call out to one when he was halted by a hard punch to his shoulder, "Donnie!"

"Ow! Wh-Wh-What?" Donnie asked rubbing his sore shoulder.

"Pay fucking attention!" Artie screamed before resuming his normal, calmer tone, "How much further?"

"It's a few blocks down!" Donnie blurted out and kept his eyes glued to the floor, doing what he could to avoid inciting his cousin's wrath.

Driving down three more blocks they eventually happened across a building with its exterior covered in bright neon blue lights that almost gave off the appearance of a crystal palace. Atop the front entrance was a violet overhang and on top of that was the neon figure of a woman in a showgirl outfit. Flashing gold letters indicated they had now arrived at Queen Sheba's Revue.

Waiting for them was a woman with long dark hair and violet eyes that lived up to her stage name. Artie expected her to be clad in either some skimpy outfit or even dressed like the showgirl on the sign; instead she was clad in a dark brown trench coat with her arms crossed.

"Wait here," Donnie ordered stepping out of the car and running over to her "Hey Amethyst, how ya' doin' baby?"

"Ooh Donnie, you're looking all nice and roughed up tonight," the woman said wrapping her arms around his shoulders and beginning to nibble on his ear, "Did you do that just for me?"

"Nah, I got into a fight with some dumbass and got busted, but if that's your cup of tea, then you could say it's just for you," Donnie replied slapping her on the butt as he led her over to the Greenwood and opened the backdoor for her before following her inside.

"Well this isn't the Banshee, but at least we get some backseat time and normally we don't have a driver either…extra kinky!" Amethyst giggled looking ahead to Artie.

"Oh yeah, Amethyst this is my cousin Artie. He's new to the area," Donnie said.

"Nice to meet you," Artie spoke, forcing the most genial tone he could muster.

"Alright, take me over to my condo in Lakeview and step on it, the fair lady doesn't like to be kept waiting," Donnie ordered.

"Who says we have to wait, Tiger?" Amethyst giggled, reaching for Donnie's crotch.

"Ugh! Save that shit for when I get you two lovebirds home!" Artie grunted, stepping on the accelerator and speeding through the nearest intersection, not even minding the red light nor the fish truck that nearly sideswiped him. He just wanted to get them home as fast as he could before they could put on too much of a show in the backseat.

Fiddling with the radio, Artie was looking for anything to mask the dirty talk and animal sounds, mostly finding commercials and slow 'sex music' before finally happening across the station 94.3 CSKD.

_"Hello harlots and blasphemers, you're now tuning in to 94.3 CSKD, Rushmore City's home of everything hard and fucking heavy. I am your host, the Metal Harbinger and once again it is time to throw up a giant burning middle finger to all the non-believers out there in the so-called 'real world.' This is an all request hour and right now I am going to the phones," _the disc jockey announced before taking a call from a man who sounded like he was literally in the middle of a nervous breakdown.

_"Yes, please play me something fucking heavy and fucking brutal!" _the caller screamed.

_"My metallic brother, I am more than able to do that. This is 'Severed Reality' by Warbringer, heard only here on Smash, Kill, Destroy!"_

Artie turned up the music as loud as his ears could handle as the fast-paced, hard-hitting thrash metal thumped the car's interior, doing whatever he could to stifle any lovemaking attempts for his cousin and his woman of the hour.

_"At least until they're out of my sight," _he thought speeding past a motorcyclist and purposely crossing over onto the wrong side to pass a long line of cars, wanting to get them there as soon as possible as he turned onto the ramp that would take him to Jefferson Vale.

It took some time but eventually Artie would make his way to the island of Jefferson Vale and it was only seconds after that he noticed the large sign welcoming him to the suburban Lakeview district, filled with nice looking condominiums, fancy cars parked in their driveways and even an enclosed community swimming pool that harbored no signs of contamination whatsoever.

"Alright Cuz, it's at the end of this block!" Donnie called out from the back; until he was pulled down to receive a hickey from the overzealous Amethyst.

Artie ignored the couple's hanky panky long enough to pull up to a modest two story condo with a nicely trimmed front lawn, small apple tree in the center and a few small rose bushes, something he would've never expected from his cousin, unless of course somebody planted and maintained them for him. A small garage was to the house's right and parked in the driveway was a sleek 2010 Bravado Banshee, cobalt blue with two white racing stripes down the center, the kind of car Artie himself could only dream of.

"Are you sure this is it?" he asked bringing the car to a halt.

"You're damn right it is," Donnie said throwing the door open and reaching into his pocket, "Hey listen, I know you're going to be stuck around here for a while so take this while you're at it!" he said tossing two one-hundred dollar bills over to his cousin before he was literally dragged to the front door and both of them disappeared inside.

"What the hell?" Artie asked staring at the condo and fancy sports car, wondering how Donnie could afford such amenities while Gino was barely keeping his head above water. _"Why the hell wouldn't he help his own brother out? Gino did a lot for him growing up, the most he could do is repay his kindness."_

For now, he was feeling tired after everything that had transpired during the day and needed a good night's rest.

"I'll worry about that shit later," he told himself as he switched off the aggressive heavy metal in favor of the Rock of Rushmore 89.5, which was currently playing "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey.

"Tomorrow is a new day and hopefully it'll be a better one…although given what I'm surrounded by I doubt that," Artie whispered as he made his way back for Gino's.

Author's Note: And so ends another chapter! It seems like things might not be much different from the original, but I'm hoping by the time Chapter 5 rolls around to start changing things up a little more.

As some of you have noticed, I have indeed inserted myself into this fic as well, albeit in a very minor fashion as the unseen D.J. of 94.3 CSKD. If this were an actual video game I would definitely want a part in my own creation, but in a way that wouldn't allow me to hog too much of the glory from my own creations. In addition, "Severed Reality" is an actual metal song and Warbringer is an actual metal band. If you love heavy metal then I highly suggest checking them out!

In other notes, Funkin' Screw is a parody of Mountain Dew and MeTube is a spoof of YouTube.

Well that's it for now as you've become acquainted with Artie and both his piss poor and oversized libido carrying cousins. Until then read and review!

This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	4. Bothersome Borker

Author's Note: In the original "Capitol City" this chapter was known as "Cheap Wheels."

Chapter 4: Bothersome Borker

Artie groaned loudly while shifting beneath the covers, feeling the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds and washing over him, so overpowering he was forced awake and out of a wet dream he was having.

"Goddamn it…" he muttered aloud, _"I was in the middle of having another dream about Ms. Scoville," _he thought, remembering his attractive 10th grade World History teacher, _"too bad she was already fucking that 'roid freak of a gym teacher Mr. Busick."_

Pushing himself up he yawned loudly while stretching his arms out before looking down to the fold up bed, surprised he had been able to fall asleep upon such a clunky old mattress. Then again, he looked around the rest of the small apartment and was surprised he had been able to fall asleep in such a location.

_"My place back in Liberty wasn't much bigger, but it was still Caligula's Palace compared to this place," _Artie thought surveying the living room he occupied, obvious signs everywhere that Gino never had many visitors, especially as he placed his feet down upon a sticky, heavily-stained carpet covered in dried flecks of marinara sauce, long-dried wine and plenty of unwashed articles of clothing.

Artie walked over to a nearby chair to grab an extra bathrobe provided by Gino, backing into a coffee table and sending several objects clattering to the floor.

"Shit!" he blurted out before turning and realizing nothing had been broken.

Reaching down he scooped up a handful of Candy Suxxx DVDs, including the legendary 'Bite' directed by Steve Scott and her greatest hits compilation, aptly titled 'Greatest Tits.' Also present in the stack was a horror movie called 'Prison Bitch Massacre 3' and some self-help book written by some New Age loser named Reed Tucker.

"Poor bastard," he muttered placing them exactly as he found them on the coffee table and then found a smaller framed copy of the family portrait that hung in Gino's office downstairs.

Artie looked hard at the photo and wondered to himself what Uncle Leo and Aunt Sophie would think if they could see what their sons had become.

_"Gino's a piss poor pathological liar with delusions of grandeur, who aspires for more than what he can afford, and Donnie, he's an oversexed, homophobic, alcoholic God knows what. Not exactly something you'd brag to the other angels about," _he thought setting the photo back onto the table and made his way over to the kitchen area.

Opening the fridge he found it mostly empty aside from a carton of milk, some old Tupperware containers with their contents crusted to the inside walls, some half-consumed bottles of wine and a half-eaten 'Big Willy' submarine sandwich from Byway.

"Should've expected this too,"Artie grumbled pulling out the milk carton and examined it, finding it more than a month past its expiration date. Nearly gagging in disgust he tossed it into the nearby trashcan.

"Looks like I'll be eating elsewhere," he said to himself looking over to a wall-mounted clock to see it was already after noon. _"At least I got some sleep I really needed," _he told himself making his way over to the closet-sized bathroom.

After an ice cold shower, Artie put on a pair of black jeans, a gray t-shirt, an olive drab combat jacket, and pair of Hi-Tops, all clothing which Zeke had been nice enough to provide.

He made his way outside and looked down to a cardboard box, finding Old Freda sticking halfway out and surrounded by empty liquor bottles. Once again he shuddered in disgust when laying eyes upon the homeless whore, but she snored loudly enough to wake the dead and taking advantage of that he snuck down the flight of metal stairs and made his way around to the front of the building.

"Who the fuck does that stupid asshole think he is always coming in here and ripping shit up the way he does?" Gino growled, resisting the urge to smash his empty mug against whatever he could.

"Well he must be pretty damn important if you're constantly allowing him to come in here so he can cause trouble," Zeke replied shaking his head dismissively and throwing his hands into the air in defeat.

"Hey, just remember that I sign your paycheck before you start lipping off!" Gino said jabbing a finger in the bartender's direction.

"What paycheck?" Zeke sarcastically retorted, "Anything I could've been paid went into helping fix this place up after what Sneed and his boys did yesterday!"

Before Gino could retaliate Artie decided it was time to step in.

"Hey guys, how's it going?" he asked stepping up to the bar and taking a seat.

"Bad," Gino replied, calming down long enough to take a seat next to him.

"What's wrong now?" Artie continued, looking over to Zeke.

"Some drunken ass was just in here and scared away a few customers we managed to round up," Zeke answered for his boss.

"Always comes in here and drinks 'til he's shit-faced beyond recognition and starts his tirades," Gino added, resting his forehead in his open palms. "I always wonder why I keep letting that prick back in here after what he's done."

"Because he's one of our only regular customers aside from Pukin' Pete," Zeke said motioning towards the men's room. On cue a man's loud heaving filled the air, followed by a sickly splatter upon the tile floor.

"Goddamn it, he did it again!" Gino grunted in disgust.

"He always does that," Zeke shot back rolling his eyes.

A renewed sense of vigor came over Gino and he rose to his feet slapping his hands down on the counter, "That's it! If I'm going to make this place into a moneymaker and pay off my debts I'm gonna have to weed out the crap and I'm gonna start by getting rid of that chump!"

"Now you're finally getting on top of things after so long," Zeke added while leaning towards Artie, "Knowing him, he was probably waiting for somebody to come along and do the dirty work for him, somebody he figures he wouldn't have to pay much for."

"I wouldn't doubt that at all," Artie replied, "cheap labor at its finest."

"Artie, you're a big tough guy!" Gino called out with a snap of his fingers, "Maybe you can teach that bastard a lesson or two!"

"See, I told you so," Zeke whispered while reclining against the bar.

Gino scampered behind the bar and shoved his employee out of the way, reaching underneath the counter and placing an aluminum baseball bat before his cousin.

"I want you to track down that son of a bitch and introduce this bat to his skull," the elder Cappelli ordered.

"It's your bar, why don't you do it yourself?" Artie asked, knowing his cousin would likely blow up, yet wanting to see his reaction anyway.

True to his thoughts, Gino's face turned a bright shade of red and the veins began sticking out of his forehead.

"Because I have a business to run and I can't afford to be seen by the cops or else I'm really ruined! Do you honestly think I'd rather be getting gang raped in the shower block than having the more merciful option of taking a bullet to the skull? I'll take the latter thank you very much!"

"And you think it would be any different for me?" Artie asked, really wanting to tug on his cousin's chain while Zeke snickered quietly in the background.

"Besides, you don't have anything better to do anyway," Gino said ignoring the sarcastic question and pushing the bat into his cousin's hands.

"Okay, you win…" Artie sighed in mock defeat, "…just how much would I be getting paid for this job?"

Gino's face suddenly sunk, "What?"

"Yeah, you heard me Cuz. If I'm going to be your new 'errand boy' then you'd better be prepared to pay up for a job well done," Artie said taking the bat and resting it against his shoulder, "Us 'hitmen' don't get by on respect alone y'know."

The elder Cappelli cousin was backed into a corner and his eyes darted back and forth between Artie and Zeke. Knowing his employee wouldn't have his back in this; he dug into his pockets and pulled out both a one-hundred dollar bill and a green and black coupon.

"Alright, I'll pay you one-hundred dollars for this hit, that's all I can do at the moment!" Gino said presenting the dollar to his cousin and showing him the coupon, "This is a coupon for the Pay n' Spray three blocks down from here."

"And just what exactly am I supposed to do with this?" Artie asked examining the coupon, "In case you haven't noticed, I don't have a car!"

Grunting in frustration Gino again slapped his hands against the counter, "Look, I know I can't offer you much money for this job, but I can tell you this, I've seen this guy driving around in a really sweet looking silver 2010 Sentinel. How he's able to afford such a ride with all the money he blows around here I honestly have no idea, but it's a sweet fucking ride and I'm sure you'd enjoy it for yourself.

"Think of it as 'compensation' of sorts and this coupon can help you customize it for your own needs, especially if you get the fuzz on your tail. Its' all I can give you at the moment, I swear!"

"Those are some pretty sweet rides man, not such a bad form of compensation if it gets you some ass in the end," Zeke added.

"Fine," Artie said cramming the coupon into his pocket, "Now just whom will I be going after?"

Zeke stepped up and pulled out his cell phone, "The guy's name is Glenn Borker and this is what he looks like," he said showing a picture he had taken with his camera phone, one of a reddish-blond haired man in his mid-forties passed out on the floor who had been stripped of his clothes and placed in an oversized diaper."

"Should be a piece of cake," Artie said carefully studying the image, struggling to hold back his laughter in the process, "So where do I find this asshole?"

"We don't know exactly where he lives, but from what I've heard around, he often hangs around the docks between 3 and 6 p.m. He's a regular customer with all the dealers and hookers down there. I'm sure they'd be able to help you out," Zeke explained, causing Gino to stare at him awkwardly.

"Just how do you know all of that stuff kid?" the elder Cappelli asked.

"Simple, through interacting with people outside of the bar," Zeke said making quotation gestures with his fingers when uttering the word 'outside.'

"Whatever, just get down there and deal with that rat bastard once and for all," Gino said brushing Zeke off when another loud heave resounded from the men's room.

"Goddamn it," the bar owner grumbled when the front door opened.

"Hi there…is this the drug store?" a hunched over blind man asked, stumbling in as he used his cane for a guide.

"Alright, we've got a potential customer," Gino squealed quietly, "Zeke, help him out. I'll go clean up after Pukin' Pete," he ordered reaching for a nearby mop and bucket.

Artie made his way outside and it suddenly hit him.

_"What the hell am I doing? I promised myself I wouldn't get drawn into this errand running bullshit again, especially after what happened back in Liberty. Once I was out of there it was supposed to be a fresh start. No more crime, no more violence, just a simple start with a clean slate. Goddamn it, I should've never come to visit. I should've gone straight to San Andreas or somewhere overseas. Fuck, I should've said to hell with it, faked my death and then joined a monastery somewhere in the European backwoods. Then again, I wouldn't have had much of a sex life."_

Looking down to his watch he saw it was a little after one o'clock.

_"Probably got time for a quick bite to eat," _he thought to himself surveying the area for any available cars.

Parked in front of the Nicely Naughty adult novelty shop was a beaten up Esperanto, not exactly his ideal form of transportation as it sucked with handling, but it would blend in down at the rough and tumble docks.

_"Besides, not like I'm going into battle with an entire army anyway," _Artie thought bolting over to the car and using his bat to smash the driver's side window open. Fortunately there was no car alarm and he pulled the door open, sliding in and reaching for the wires to hotwire the car. When the engine roared with life he wasted no time slamming down the gas pedal.

Speeding up until he was sure neither the owner nor any cops had him in sight, he slowed down and switched the radio from its current Yakbox 96.7 talk radio station to some drum and bass music that really woke him up and had him drumming on the steering wheel.

"Now to find a place to eat," Artie said aloud traveling further down the street, having to stop to make a double take on an attractive Latin woman in a skirt that was a little too short, but not short enough to make her look like an actual hooker. His focus on the woman was shattered when he heard shouting coming from his left and turned to see two pedestrians getting into a fistfight at a bus stop kiosk while several others in attendance attempted to separate the two brawling men.

He continued further until he found himself at the edge of the Camden Heights district and among the dive bars and shops he spotted a small greasy spoon on a corner intersection whose metallic silver exterior made it impossible to ignore as the blinding sunlight reflected off of it. Aunt Gracie's Corner Diner it was simply called and the parking lot was mostly full, suggesting it must have been a popular joint.

"Might as well find out for myself," Artie said to himself pulling into a stall and walking inside.

The small building was fairly crowded for this time of day with a few grungy truckers seated at the front counter, two old couples on a midday double date chatting about their younger days, four officers sitting at a table together going on about some major bust that occurred recently, and several other patrons going back and forth. The waitresses were stretched to the max by this point and left him wondering if they would have enough time for him, yet in the end the sweet aroma of cheeseburgers and French fries had placed an unbreakable stranglehold on his stomach. He took a seat in a booth behind a long-haired college student who bopped his head to the beat of some tune blasting through his My-Pod, in between typing away on his laptop and taking sips from a fresh cappuccino.

Much faster than he expected, a blonde pink-clad waitress made her way over to his table with her notepad ready.

"So what can I get for you today, sir?" she asked in a ditzy tone, cracking her bubblegum loudly after she finished.

Artie took some time to review the menu before making his decision, "I'll take a cheeseburger with a side of fries and a Funkin' Screw," he said handing the menu back to her.

The waitress said nothing and disappeared into the kitchen. In need of something to help pass the time, Artie looked over and found a copy of the city's paper 'The Daily Blowhard' resting on the counter as one of the truckers left and wanting first dibs he stepped over and swiped it before the trucker next to it could look up from his steak.

_"Horror in Steel Junction: Another Body Found,' _was today's headline, accompanied by a picture of a police diving team fishing a bloodstained duffel bag out of the water.

The following article went on to detail how this had been the fourteenth body found around the Lincoln Island area and how there were others found in the woods of Roosevelt Hills, wondering if they were connected. There was apparently no preferred type of victim for the killer as men, women and even children had been victims, as well as no preferred social class as one of the victims was a marketing executive and another was a homeless SPANK addict. At this point the press was torn on whether they should call this serial killer 'The Steel Junction Ripper,' 'The Lincoln Island Ripper,' or take it even further and have him represent the entire city as 'The Rushmore Ripper.'

Artie was just finishing the section on current events from around the world and was about to go to the opinion pieces from the locals when the waitress reappeared with his order.

"Okay, there you go sir. Just wanted to remind you that Aunt Gracie's Corner Diner is not responsible for any health issues you may incur after consumption of our food as you are eating under your own risk. Until then, enjoy putting on that extra three hundred pounds!" the woman reported before disappearing from sight.

"Heh, whatever," Artie scoffed quickly checking over his meal to see if this would be anything like the piss poor food he was served yesterday at Well Stacked Pizza.

Taking a deep bite of his cheeseburger he smiled.

_"Damn this is actually good…it tastes…like food," _he told himself chowing down on his burger and fries before washing it all down with his Funkin' Screw that was actually ice cold and tasted like regular soda. _"I'll have to come here again sometime."_

Looking down to his watch it was now a little after 2 p.m. and with nothing else to do Artie decided he would still drive down to the waterfront.

Reaching for his radio's knob he switched the station over to the Rock of Rushmore 89.5, which was playing the opening chords of one of his all-time favorite songs, 'Holy Diver' by Dio.

Rolling down the window he let the sounds of heavy metal filter through the mid-afternoon air and chuckled heartily as he purposely ran a red light, causing another pile up. Speeding through the intersection his car was also clipped by a Stratum station wagon that was just pulling out, taking out its passenger side rearview mirror, a rear taillight and most of the paint on the side.

_"Why the hell should I care? Not like this piece of shit belongs to me anyway," _he thought, thinking of the car he would possibly be getting at the end of the day, provided Gino wasn't lying through his teeth again. _"He'd better not be. Cousin or not, I'll cut his tongue out."_

It took him a while before he reached Lincoln Island's harbor district and found it to be the usual assortment of import and export warehouses, slaughterhouses, factories and junkyards. Workers milled about, along with the usual assortment of other unsavory characters, and this time around, a few tough-looking guys in tan jackets.

Slowing down a bit Artie had managed to catch the insignia on the back, a flaming tiger-like head.

"So they must be the Hellcats," he said aloud, noticing one of them walking over to collect a fresh roll of dollar bills from an Oriental man in a bloodied smock, while two others were across the street kicking the living crap out of a downed factory worker.

"But goddamn, what am I going to do to kill some time around here?" he asked himself staring down to his watch when he pulled up to another stop sign.

"Hey sugar, you lookin' for a good time?" a Southern-accented voice suddenly called out and nearly made him jump in his seat.

Looking over to his right, a blonde-haired woman with bright blue eyes stared towards him, licking her lips seductively and moving her arms so that her ample cleavage was fully displayed for the errand boy.

_"Well I need to kill some time after all," _he thought smiling back to the woman, _"Besides, she's much better looking than that 'thing' I encountered behind Gino's place."_

"As long as you're not an undercover cop I'm listening," Artie said noticing the cheerful looking tattoo on her left shoulder of a sun with a smiling face on it, something that looked too childish and innocent for the line of work she performed, and quite frankly almost had him feeling like a pedophile.

"How much you got handsome?" the prostitute purred, looking like she was ready to leap into the car and go at it with him right then and there.

"One hundred dollars," Artie replied, wondering if she would laugh at such a paltry sum, _"Then again it's been a while since I've gotten some, might as well go all out."_

"That's good enough for me tiger," the woman said opening the door and inviting herself in. "Don't worry honey, I'm all stocked up, so there'll be no need for stopping by the nearest drug store."

"Glad to hear it," the errand boy replied letting off the brake and driving around looking for some place they would be able to enjoy some privacy.

"You don't look familiar, are you new to the area dollface?" the woman asked purposely pulling her miniskirt back to expose her well-toned legs, "I'm Sunny by the way."

"I'm Artie and I was just passing through, but then those dumbasses had to bomb the airport, so I guess I'll be stuck here a little while longer," he replied pulling into an open lot between two factories and driving around the buildings looking for a quiet spot.

Then it suddenly hit him.

"Um, hey wait a minute Sunny, I was just wondering if you knew about someone who is a regular around here," Artie was asking until he was cut off by the woman raising her hand.

"It'll have to wait sugar," Sunny said pulling a condom out of her purse, "You're definitely one of my better looking customers, and seem much classier compared to half the fat slobs blowing their unemployment checks around these parts. Sunny wants to brighten your day before we start talking about anything else."

"Sure thing," Artie said pulling the car to a halt in a narrow alley and switching it off.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

About an hour and a half later, Artie breathed heavily with his pants around his ankles as he relaxed in the driver's seat.

"Wow, that sure was fun," Sunny said pulling her bra back on, "at least you know how to keep it up compared to those other limp dicked bastards with their 'male enhancement products.' If I wasn't on the clock I'd certainly love to go another round…or two…or three with you," she giggled with a wink.

"So now that we've done our 'little thing,'" Artie said zipping his pants up, "I wanted to know if you know anything about a guy whom I've heard is a regular customer around here."

Sunny looked at him perplexed, "Please tell me you're not really a gay man in denial."

"No, no, no it's not about that!" Artie replied raising his hands defensively, "I'm just wondering because let's just say I'm looking for somebody who's been pissing off one of my relatives and needs to be taught a lesson."

Sunny sighed in relief before pulling her panties up, "Go on then sugar."

"Are you by any chance familiar with some schmuck named Glenn Borker?"

The Southern hooker let out a loud laugh at the mention of the name.

"Everybody around here is familiar with that asshole. Ask any dealer and they'll tell you they have that hopeless loser's number on their speed dial. He asked me once for a 'girlfriend experience' and tried to pay me with food stamps! Needless to say, he didn't get what he wanted. How he gets anything from anybody around here I honestly can't tell you," Sunny explained pulling her halter top back on and then straightening out her leopard-print coat.

"Well can you please tell me where he typically hangs out?" Artie politely asked looking around to see numerous hookers, pimps and dealers standing around. "All I know for sure is that he's typically around here between 3 and 6."

Sunny placed a hand to her chin sitting in deep thought until she snapped her fingers.

"Now I remember, he likes to visit Concepcion. She typically hangs over by the Well Hung meat packing plant not far from here. I'm sure you'll catch the sorry loser over there."

"Alright thanks!" Artie said as she exited the car, but not before handing him a slip with her phone number on it.

"Anytime sweetie, call me when you get the chance!" and with those words Sunny vanished from sight.

Seeing it was getting close to 4, Artie started up the car and got back onto the street so he would look like he belonged. He kept driving until he found a large red and white building with a logo of a muscular cartoon bull on the side. Finding a nearby parking lot, he pulled the Esperanto to a halt and looked around for the aforementioned silver Sentinel, but found no cars matching the description.

A set of fresh tire prints that looked much smaller than those of an ordinary delivery truck ran alongside the building, rousing the errand boy's interest. Creeping along the structure, he moved forth until reaching the back loading docks and taking position behind one of the trailers. Peeking his head out he spotted the Sentinel.

_"Man I'm so gonna have to give that Sunny lady some repeat service for this," _he thought to himself as he spotted an overweight Latin woman who looked ready to pop out of her garments at any second, standing next to the car and sifting through a stack of dollar bills. He assumed that had to be Concepcion when he saw whom she was talking to.

Before her stood Glenn Borker himself and instead of him being dressed like some typical blue collar worker as Artie expected, the man was dressed in a fancy white dress shirt and slack with a loosened blue tie hanging around his neck. He jittered anxiously in front of the woman and pulled out a bottle of Vodka, gulping it down in one fell swoop.

Artie knew he had to remain unseen and carefully crept along the trailer before darting behind a stack of empty wooden crates. This Borker fellow looked like a runner and he wasn't taking his chances, especially when the man was just inches away from his getaway car.

"Alright baby, I gave you your money, now can we please get down to business already?" the anxious man called out, "I'm gonna whip it out and start choking the chicken if you don't do something!"

"Jesus hold your friggin' horses will ya'? Ya' know I gots to be in my 'happy place' like the anger management people taught me!" Concepcion yelled, "Last time I didn' do that I was gettin' busted by the Five-O for tryin' to chop a guy's dick off!"

"But we gotta make it quick before my wife finds out!" Borker protested, "One more strike and she's taking me to divorce court!"

_"Should've thought about that sooner jackass," _Artie thought as he crept alongside Borker's car, both of them oblivious to his presence. He clenched the bat with white knuckles as he got closer to the end and leapt out with the bat raised before the hooker could alert her customer.

With no time to turn around Borker was knocked to the ground as the aluminum baseball bat struck him just beneath the base of his neck, sending the hooker running away screaming. The man convulsed as he hit the ground and Artie again raised the bat high above his head, striking him again and again until he was rewarded by the audible cracking of the man's skull, and the bloody chunks of brain matter that would soon follow.

"Stupid drunk," Artie spat looking down to the man's bludgeoned form and pulled out his cell phone, dialing Gino's number.

"Hey Gino, it's Artie. I found that Borker chump and let's just say he won't be causing you any troubles ever again."

_"Hell yeah, that's the spirit Cuz!" _an enthusiastic Gino shouted from the other end, _"You show those bastards why nobody fucks with the Cappelli family! You've earned yourself any free drink of your choice once you get back here!"_

"Uh yeah, thanks," Artie said before hanging up.

Looking down to the corpse of Glenn Borker he rifled through the man's pockets and found a wallet carrying fifty dollars in cash.

"Better than nothing," he told himself as he looked over to see Concepcion had dropped her purse and he would search through that too, finding an additional three hundred dollars in cold hard cash.

"Looks like this wasn't a total bust after all," he said aloud turning to look at the Sentinel that was now his.

Indeed the car looked sleek and he opened the door to find fresh leather interior, surprisingly clean for the kind of drunkard this Borker fellow allegedly was. Taking a seat in his newly-acquired ride, he found a notebook and opened it to find hateful notes directed at Democratic mayoral candidate Robert Kretchell and liberal politicians in general. In the backseat he found a copy of 'Rebelling Rascal' by Terra Nailin, a failed politician turned right-wing demagogue from Alaska.

"Fucking blowhards," Artie said tossing the notebook aside, knowing he would eventually burn it later on.

Before he could turn the ignition his phone rang again.

"What now?" he asked aloud, looking down to the caller ID screen and seeing a number he didn't recognize, "Yes?"

_"Artie, its Zeke!"_

"Oh hey, what's up?" he asked relaxing.

_"Listen, when you get some free time I'm gonna need to talk to you."_

"About what?"

_"For far too long I've sat back and let those Redcoats and those loan shark pricks push us around and I've decided that enough is enough," _the bartender reported.

"And just what do you plan to do? From what Gino says you'd need an entire freaking army to take down those bastards."

_"Well I've gotta start somewhere and I've got some friends who might be able to help us out. Gino has no idea of what I've been planning and for now I want it kept that way. He might be a lying, two-faced prick, but he's still my employer and nobody deserves the shit he's been going through, especially when I know I'm bound to go down with him the day anybody tries anything. I've gotta keep myself alive too."_

"Well I applaud your efforts and your incentive, but a gang war isn't something I'm looking to get involved with," Artie sighed.

_"We have no choice. We'll need some kind of protection or else we're all going to be dead, and you too now that Sneed knows of your existence. People like him don't give a shit if you've crossed him or not, they'll fucking kill anybody whom they deem guilty by association! Believe me; I've seen that fucker do that to other people."_

Artie clenched his eyes shut and began breathing deeply. He had already seen enough of this kind of violence back in Liberty and now it was following him here.

_"Goddamn it, this trip is turning out to be one of the biggest fucking mistakes I've ever made. Way to go Artie Cappelli, way to fucking go!" _his mind scolded him before he replied. "I still don't know man. I didn't come here to be an errand boy all over again."

_"Dude, you're gonna get yourself fucking killed if you don't help out. You have to trust me man, these guys I have lined up are some good guys who know what the hell they're doing. You won't' regret it."_

"You son of a bitch…" Artie grumbled into the phone, "…fine, I'll see what I can do."

_"Alright, I'm sorry to twist your arm like this Artie, but within due time you'll see what I'm talking about. I'll talk to you when you get back to the bar," _Zeke said before hanging up.

Artie breathed deeply and leaned back in his seat clamping the sides of his head and asking himself if this was all really happening.

_"Damn, I sure must've pissed off somebody pretty bad in a previous life if I'm getting all this shit happening to me right now," _Artie thought as he started the car up and switched the radio over to the Radio GX alternative rock station, which was playing "Almost Easy" by Avenged Sevenfold.

That gang battle he found himself caught in the middle of yesterday, was that really part of a bigger picture he had yet to fully discover? And if so, what would be the end result? Could he truly afford to distance himself from Zeke's proposal? Would it truly lead to his demise if he refused?

_"I guess only time will tell," _he told himself as he made his way down the street and past another export warehouse that had been cordoned off by the police, with several Cuban thugs standing spread eagle against a wall being frisked by the cops and some detectives digging through the trunk of a black Hermes that had flame designs on it.

_"Only time will tell."_

Author's Note: Well I've been cranking out chapters on an almost nightly basis for this rewrite! Whew!

The remark where Artie states how "us 'hitmen' don't get by on respect alone y'know" is meant to be a playful poke at "San Andreas," where in some missions you are rewarded with respect rather than actual money. I loved the game, don't get me wrong, but I'm sure a lot of gamers would have rather seen actual dollar signs instead of respect, so I'm sure some of you could relate to that joke.

In addition, "Prison Bitch Massacre 3" is a spoof of the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" series. Byway is a spoof of Subway and the "Big Willy" would be their star attraction, of course in following Rockstar's tradition of innuendos! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!

For some of you who might have picked it out right away, yes Glenn Borker is a spoof of Glenn Beck and what Artie did to him is something I would laugh my fucking ass off to if somebody actually did it in real life. Terra Nailin is a spoof of Sarah Palin and I get her last name from a spoof that Hustler did called "Who's Nailin' Paylin" starring the super sexy cougar Lisa Ann as the dimwit from Alaska whom every rational-minded person loves to hate, myself being one of them.

"The Rushmore Ripper" is intended to be a spoof of Jack the Ripper. I have always been fascinated by Jack the Ripper so in some senses I'm probably a "Ripperologist" and have always wanted to take the famous "Ripper Walk" over in London.

I chose to have the body found in Steel Junction because I intend for that place to be my take on a modern day version of the Whitechapel district where the Ripper carried out his murders.

The way they're so torn on what to call the killer is also my spoof of Eddie Low from GTA4 and them not knowing what to call him.

Well that's it for now so as always read and review!

This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	5. The Iceman Cometh

Author's Note: I guess I owe an apology to SlayerDarth as reading my fic has probably now officially scarred him for life with the images of Old Freda burnt into his mind. Oh well, at least it now gives you incentive to review as Old Freda will likely be on hand to give you herpes, syphilis, or whatever her 'flavor of the day' is if you don't! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

And I have to agree with Afro Spirit in thinking that Tina Fey looks good while spoofing Sarah Palin, she's one smarty pants I wouldn't mind showing my "bookworm" too if you catch my drift. ;-)

Oh well, now it's time to go on with the story!

Chapter 5: The Iceman Cometh

Artie had woken up much earlier today and made a quick driver over to the 24-7 convenience store in Bellport, picking up a half dozen long johns, fresh jug of milk, carton of eggs and a fresh loaf of bread, as well a copy of 'The Daily Blowhard.'

He also had the TV going, distracting him from being able to get too deeply into any of the headlines featured on today's issue. Weazel News was currently broadcasting a news feed from its West Coast-baed affiliate network whose name he failed to catch.

The current image displayed was an exterior shot of the Visage casino in Las Venturas, surrounded by several police vehicles with officers trying to restrain the overzealous citizens and press. A headline at the bottom of the screen read 'Visage Casino Robbed.'

_"The King is alive…and he's robbing casinos in Las Venturas!" _a female anchor's voiceover announced, _"Last night the Visage casino was robbed by a gang of men in Elvis costumes and brandishing military-issue weaponry, escaping with what was estimated to be over half a million dollars in cold hard cash. Our very own Dick Rodley is on the scene."_

The scene then switched to a reporter standing in front of the casino's main entrance, where already some faithful Elvis fans had erected a shrine to the memory of their supposedly rediscovered hero.

_"Thank you Joanne. I am reporting live from the Visage, where personnel are still in shock following the recent robbery, in which more than five-hundred thousand dollars was successfully netted from the casino's vault. I am standing here with Earl Spengler, a security guard who witnessed the spectacle firsthand. Mr. Spengler, please tell the listeners back home exactly what you saw happen last night."_

The camera panned over to a short, balding red-headed man with a bushy mustache and protruding beer gut, while other spectators bounced around in the background doing whatever they could to be noticed, including making lewd gestures and holding up the typical 'Hi Mom' and 'John 3:16' signs.

_"Well Dick, I was just doing my usual rounds for the night when all of the sudden, The King himself waltzed right into my very own place of work! Elvis 'Freaking' Presley at the Visage of all places! Naturally, I was excited to see the man and a little shocked because he looked pretty good for a man who died on his toilet!_

_ "Anywho, I had to put that at the back of my mind and went up to ask the guy for an autograph to give to my dear mama, when all of a sudden he pulls out this huge ass assault rifle on me! He told me to don't be a fool and drop my weapon and get down on the ground, just as long as I didn't scuff his blue suede shoes, or else I would be 'all shook up.'_

_ "Next thing I know, a whole bunch of them appeared! I didn't know Elvis also had himself cloned ten times! What's also funny was that whoever managed to clone him must've done some funky stuff with his DNA because a few of them were pretty young looking, a few of them were black, and one of them was even a freakin' woman!_

_ "Anyways, I was tied up and blindfolded and next thing I know, I heard all these gunshots and screams, and a bunch of piss poor renditions of 'Heartbreak Hotel' and before I know it, I was being helped up by some officers. They told us The King and 'his boys' robbed the casino!_

_ "Why the hell would he rob a casino? He's the single greatest performer of all time! He's got all the money he should ever need…even more money than God himself! People should be robbing him!"_

The female anchor's voiceover resumed as a cameraman was shown trying to enter the casino, only to be shoved backward by an exasperated officer.

_"Immediately after the vault was emptied, the Elvises escaped in a white limousine and were nowhere to be found. Police still have no leads as to their possible whereabouts and are almost too stunned to believe The King would ever do such a thing, but are determined that the only rocking in the end will be done in the jailhouse."_

Artie shook his head and switched the TV off, returning his attention to the newspaper while reaching over for a half-eaten long john.

He was still feeling the after effects of a nasty hangover from the night before. As soon as he had gotten back to the bar, Gino was so overjoyed he had been feeding him shots nonstop until he had to be helped up the stairs.

_"Last time I let you pull that shit Gino," _Artie thought to himself taking a sip of his milk.

The phone rang on the stand next to him, making him grunt in anger as his breakfast was interrupted.

"Why do I even bother?" he asked aloud picking up the phone and breathing deeply into the receiver, "This better be good."

_"Artie, its Zeke. I need you to come downstairs right away. I have somebody I want you to meet, one of the friends I told you about who can help us out."_

"Alright, I'll be down in a few minutes," Artie said before hanging up the phone. Finishing up his long john and glass of milk, he threw on his combat jacket and stopped to pick up the very baseball bat he used to murder Glenn Borker, knowing of the old prostitute that typically lurked outside.

Carefully sneaking outside he breathed in relief when he didn't hear the labored hacking that usually indicated her presence and made his way down the stairs, taking some time to admire the now dark red Sentinel he had acquired from yesterday's mission. While walking around to the front of the building he noticed a silver Patriot S.U.V. with dark blue designs shaped like icicles parked in front of the bar.

Making his way inside Artie found Zeke manning his usual position behind the counter, stocking up the drinks in preparation for when the establishment would be open to the public in a few hours. A lone patron sat across from him taking an early morning shot of tequila.

The other man was slightly shorter than him and appeared to be in his early thirties. He had jet black hair with a matching mustache and goatee, along with dark brown eyes. He looked like he had spent quite a bit of time at the gym, his muscular arms covered in various tattoos. At the moment he wore a sleeveless black t-shirt with a frost demon design on the front of it, knee-length camouflage shorts with a studded belt, black combat boots and black fingerless gloves. A shoulder holster was also slung around the man's right shoulder, his type of gun not immediately visible.

"Hey Artie, c'mon in," Zeke called out waving him over and motioning for him to take a seat. "Gino had an 'appointment' so he left me in charge. Anyways, I want you to meet my friend. This is Pete, but everybody calls him 'Iceman.'

"Iceman, huh?" Artie asked looking the newcomer up and down. _"With a nickname like that I would've expected you to look like Santa Claus."_

"Yep that's me. Nice to meet ya'," he spoke in a gruff voice before extending his hand.

"Iceman here is one of my 'war buddies,' cool as ice in the heat of battle," Zeke said tapping fists with the man.

"War buddies?" Artie asked, now looking the bartender up and down, not believing a scrawny punk rocker like him could have ever been soldier material.

"Yeah, every Thursday night we get together with a few other guys and do LAN parties," Iceman explained, "We play 'Sworn for Battle' online with people from all over the world."

"Highly addictive game, you should definitely check it out sometime. Our unit is number one in the Rushmore City division," Zeke triumphantly added, "I'm the sniper!"

"Okay, okay I get it," Artie said turning his attention towards the bartender, "So what's going on? Are you making big plans for whatever you plan on doing about those Redcoats?"

"Don't know if I'd say I'm really planning just yet, more so gathering intelligence and in the earliest stages of recruitment at this point," Zeke replied motioning towards Iceman, "Iceman here knows some people and could probably provide us with a few weapons along the way."

_"I just hope these 'people' know how to fire _actual_ guns better than they are at jerking off to internet porn," _Artie thought trying to stifle a chuckle.

"You name it, I get it. I don't give a damn if you're looking for a pussy .38 snub nose, a badass .44, a .50 heavy machinegun or even a freakin' RPG! If it can be moved, I can get it here. There ain't no pussy laws out there that can stop the Iceman from getting what he needs and for whom he needs," the tattooed man proclaimed.

"Really? Well I hope you know what you're doing," Artie replied with a skeptical glance.

"Well you'd better not doubt me too much," Iceman shot back, studying his facial expressions closely, "I thrive on proving people wrong…believe me!" he said producing a Colt Anaconda revolver and twirling it with the grace of a Wild Western gunslinger.

"I don't think you wanna test him man. He really knows how to use that thing well," Zeke said cocking his head towards the gun.

"Alright, alright, just what the hell do you need from me?" Artie asked waving his hands protectively in front of him.

"You got anything else on you aside from that Louisville Slugger?" Iceman asked referring to the bat, which Artie had managed to cleanse thoroughly of the blood and brain matter that had once decorated it.

"No, why do you ask?" Artie said twirling the bat like a player on deck.

Iceman stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Bro', if you're going to survive in a place like Rushmore City you need a gun, no questions asked."

"I was well aware of that, but I haven't pissed off enough people to warrant owning one just yet and I don't plan on it either," Artie grunted.

"Well sometimes things have a habit of coming to you when you least expect. Zeke told me about the sticky situation you found yourself caught in the middle of from the other day. You need to be prepared and I know of a place that can help," Iceman replied turning to Zeke, "We're going for a ride then, wish you could come along."

"Yeah, until then I'm stuck here," Zeke said sounding bummed out, "Just go and get your shit done," and with those words he switched on the boombox behind him, filling the once quiet room with "Armageddon" by Alkaline Trio.

"Let's go," Iceman said leading the way to the waiting Patriot.

"Where are we going?" Artie asked climbing inside and reaching for his seatbelt.

"There's an Ammu-Nation over in Stilsen. I'm taking you there to buy you some hardware," Iceman said starting up the tank-like vehicle and waiting for a delivery truck to pass before pulling into traffic.

"Um okay, that's nice of you then," Artie replied looking out the window and spotting a few more of those Redcoats standing around outside the Kraken Bros. Hardware Store, chatting amongst themselves while enjoying some liquor and blasting tunes. "So…what do you do when you're not running guns and helping start up little armies on the side?"

"Got my own record shop," Iceman spoke slipping on a pair of sunglasses, "I help this city rock out, anything to save it from the ghetto hip-hop shit and inbred country crap."

"Sounds like a noble cause. Liberty City was full of annoying wannabe gangsters who needed a few bullets to the skull, show them what it was really like to be 'hardcore' and shit," Artie replied.

"You don't even know the half of it," the gun runner replied, "I had to take out the kneecap of some dumbass who came into my store the other day and was talking shit about anything that wasn't hip-hop or Republican, saying his 'dogs were gonna run wild on my cracka' ass.'"

"Bastard got what he deserved then," Artie spoke as the Patriot nearly ran over a homeless beggar who had attempted to step out and offer a window washing when it looked like Iceman was going to bring it to a stop.

The Patriot eventually came to a stop outside a large building with an American flag design painted onto its front exterior with a large gun hanging over the doorway.

"We're here," Iceman announced switching on the vehicle's alarm, "I can smell the sweet aroma of gunpowder already, can't you?"

Artie sniffed the air in response, "All I smell is dog shit and burnt flesh."

He jogged after the gun runner, ignoring the protests of some anti-firearms demonstrators standing around with placards and handing out flyers near the entrance, and once inside took in the overpowering stench of gunpowder that Iceman had mentioned, as well as the multitude of loud pops coming from the firing range.

Much like the stores he visited in Liberty City, the walls were lined from start to finish with all forms of handguns, shotguns, machine pistols, assault and sniper rifles and even a couple of RPGs, with additional heavy artillery on display around the showroom floor, along with various mannequins outfitted in the brands of body armor sold at the shop. There was also an advertisement for a contest to win a brand new Scorpion all-purposes urban combat vehicle that came equipped with heavy machineguns, rocket launchers, built-in laser guided missile systems and a ton of other features that nearly made Artie cream in his pants as he read the list.

Iceman summoned him over to the front counter, where they were met by a grizzled middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair cropped closely to his head and a several days old stubble. An eye patch covered the man's left eye and there was a nasty-looking scar that ran over it. He wore a U.S.M.C. tank top, camouflage pants and had a pair of dog tags hanging around his neck.

"Eh Iceman, how ya' doin'?" the man greeted in a gravelly chain smoker's drawl, "Been putting those RPGs to good use?"

"Of course Colt, why else would I buy them? Just to sit around and collect dust?" Iceman chuckled heartily, "All those gangbanger bitches running around out there, gonna be putting them to use sooner or later."

"Heh, ain't none of those fuckers ever been in the trenches of Australia," the cashier, now identified as Colt, laughed loudly before shifting his attention to Artie, "And how may I help you today, young 'un?"

"He's with me Colt. He's going to need some guns and ammo," Iceman said stepping up.

Colt looked Artie up and down a little more closely and chuckled, "You look like a lightweight son. I'd better get you something small, something with a damned good trigger lock on it."

"Hey, I've used a gun before pal; I'm not a newbie to any of this shit!" Artie shouted and raised his fist threateningly to the man's face, but was stopped by Iceman.

"Just give him a Glock 22," the weapons dealer said before turning and whispering to Artie, "I'm sorry bro', but this is Rushmore City we're talking about here. Anything you might've accomplished elsewhere means jack shit around these parts. You're gonna have to prove yourself all over again whether you like it or not."

Artie grunted angrily as he accepted the handgun, carefully checking over the sights, sliding mechanism, clip and any other small details which needed notice.

"Be careful where you're pointing that thing rookie, you might shoot your eye out," Colt taunted.

"I am pointing it straight at you right now. I'd watch my mouth if I were you jackass," Artie shot back.

"Heh, little boy I've killed plenty of wannabe tough guys like you with broken limbs, concussions, heavy blood loss and even a 104 degree temperature," Colt said cracking his knuckles, "Right now, I can think of nine different ways I could break your arm and force you to shove that barrel up your own asshole."

"Okay, thank you for your input Colt," Iceman cut in, stepping between the two men before an altercation could occur. "C'mon, we'd better put that new baby of yours to the test," he said leading Artie over to the shooting range.

"Don't shoot your own dick off like that other greenhorn did yesterday!" Colt called out, "Blood don't come out easily y'know!"

"The nerve of that asshole," Artie grunted as he was led into the shooting range, accepting a pair of protective shades and earmuffs handed to him by Iceman.

"Never mind Colt, he acts like that with all the new guys who come in here," Iceman explained as they passed an overweight gentleman in a replica Rushmore City Statesmen baseball jersey, armed with an M-249 Squad Automatic Weapon light machinegun, wildly spraying his bullets about, yet finding himself whipped back and forth by the gun's heavy recoil and barely hitting the paper target, a sight both men found humorous.

Aside from the baseball fan, there was a lanky, nerdish-looking man in a plaid sweater vest with buck teeth, a prominent cowlick in his red hair and thick glasses. He was carrying an Ithaca Model 37 Stakeout pump-action shotgun, which he was using to reduce a paper human target to shreds, all the while muttering how "the entire cruel world was going to learn a lesson for pushing Ferguson around."

"_Okay, now there's a kid who seriously needs some help before he goes and shoots some place up," _Artie thought as he passed a petite blonde-haired woman dressed in her Sunday best, armed with a Desert Eagle and firing rounds directed at her target's crotch, heard and head areas, rambling on about how she was going to teach her husband a lesson for banging his secretary behind her back.

"Alright, I'm going to make it perfectly clear to you," Iceman began looking him straight in the eye, "I don't roll with just any random schmuck. If you're going to rip shit up with me, you'll need to prove that you're not some goddamned fucking pussy. You'll need to be ready to blow the head off any random motherfucker when commanded."

He then motioned towards the gun held in Artie's right hand, "One way you can do that is by showing me what kind of shot you are. You'd better be a damned good one, or else you're on your own."

Artie nodded in acknowledgment, "Fine, I won't let you down. Just remember, I'm not the rookie that Colt prick tries to make me out to be. I know what the hell I'm doing and you've got more than one random crippled schmuck up in Liberty City who can attest to my skills."

"This is a whole new ballgame Artie. What I see happen here is what counts right now," Iceman replied.

Artie said nothing and prepared to take aim at the paper target before him, until his companion placed a hand on his shoulder.

"One more thing I forgot to tell you Artie, you're not going to be showing your skills here."

"Then just what did you have in mind?" Artie asked cracking his neck back into place.

Next thing he knew, Artie found himself in the space adjacent to the regular shooting range, which appeared to be an abandoned warehouse designed to look like an actual city, complete with cardboard buildings, crates, sandbag barriers, stripped down cars and so much more.

"_What I would see on that range out there would be only the tip of the iceberg. I wanna see more out of you," _Iceman's voice boomed over the intercom, _"I wanna see just what exactly you can do in the heat of battle. These targets are rigged to fight back, so I'd be quick on my feet if I were you. Take three strikes and you're out."_

Artie stood over a large red 'X' waiting patiently for the buzzer to ring. Taking a couple deep breaths he relaxed his shoulders and steadied his aim.

A buzzer echoed and right away the first target popped into sight, that of a masked man wielding an AK-47 assault rifle. Artie squeezed the trigger and a lone round sailed through the air, tearing through the target's center mass. He instantly pictured what would have happened had it been an actual opponent, how the blood would gush from his chest as he collapsed to the ground.

Another loud spring sounded and he whirled around to find some biker type armed with a sawed-off shotgun. With a squeeze of his trigger, a round tore through the cardboard figure's throat, an instant kill shot in real life.

A spring sounded from behind, sending Artie rolling for cover behind a wooden crate. When he went to take aim, he was relieved to see it was the harmless figure of a woman holding a bag of groceries.

Thinking he wasn't expected to, Artie prepared to move on to the next target, only to be hit from behind by a high-velocity ping pong ball striking him in the ass.

"Ow!' he grunted.

"_I also forgot to mention Artie, of course you're supposed to blast cops on this range too. Have you no idea how corrupt the pigs are in this city?" _Iceman called out over the loudspeaker.

Growling in anger, Artie fired a round with controlled precision that would have caught a real police officer right between the eyes, knocking the cardboard cutout down.

The simulated shootout went on for three minutes and ended with the majority of Artie's shots considered instant kills and others that would have crippled his imaginary opponents. He had also managed to make it through without being hit again. Ejecting another spent clip he allowed the adrenaline to ebb from his system.

Iceman whistled at the final results, _"Damned good if you ask me. I really should trust Zeke's gut instincts more often. Come on out to the front. I've taken the liberty of getting you another gun as well. You've gotta carry more than one piece if you're going to survive in this concrete jungle."_

Out in the store's lobby Artie found Iceman had already paid for his second gun, a 9mm Uzi.

"Alright Iceman, you keep it Second Amendment! The revolution is a comin' y'know!" Colt called out before turning to Artie, "Later hippie!"

Artie grunted in frustration, but kept his comments bottled up to avoid the serious firestorm he knew would follow. It was only when stepping outside that he finally voiced his displeasure.

"I wonder how that condescending asshole manages to keep any customers if he insists on acting like that towards newcomers," Artie grunted climbing into the Patriot.

"Simple, he knows people will always need protection with everything going on outside his shop," Iceman replied starting up his vehicle.

"Still doesn't give him the right to be a prick to others," Artie replied.

"That's Colt for you. Tell him otherwise and he'll likely put a round between your eyes," Iceman replied turning the radio to 94.3 CSKD, now playing "Enemy Within" by Arch Enemy.

"Heh, I don't know if that's supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing," Artie replied when the vehicle suddenly jerked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Iceman had abruptly turned the Patriot around, smashing into a Fortune in the process, and was now following a purple Broadway lowrider from a safe distance, similar to the same one he had spotted while out and about with Donnie yesterday.

"Iceman what the fuck are you doing?" Artie demanded, ready to put his newly-acquired machine pistol to the man's head and force him to turn around.

"That hi-top fade…makes the son of a bitch look like a fucking eraser!" Iceman growled narrowing his eyes behind his shades, "I found him!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Artie repeated.

"Rocca Foo," the gun runner replied, cutting off a Vapid Uranus as he remained on the Broadway's tail, hoping he was far enough to now arouse any suspicion.

"Rocca what?" Artie asked looking at him in confusion.

"We figured this would probably be your reaction, but this is something that has to be done," Iceman explained, calming himself as he turned onto the Eastwood Bridge.

"What has to be done? More importantly, why the fuck didn't you tell me anything aside from wanting to take me out and buy me some guns?" Artie asked as the smuggler passed a Blista minivan.

"It's something very personal for me and the reason we didn't tell you is because we knew you would probably say no. This is something that I need backup for, which is why you will need the guns I brought for you…and some other merchandise as well," Iceman answered as he came to a stoplight and waited for a Trashmaster to pass them by.

"What's going on?" Artie demanded as Iceman sped up to avoid losing the lowrider.

"Look in the glove box," he ordered, "Do it.'

Artie did as he was told and opened the glove box to find a photograph of a young woman in her early twenties with green eyes and short stylishly cut black hair that had aqua blue highlights.

"I have a cousin who's been kidnapped by the High Ryderz, Rocca Foo's gang, and I'm out to save her. That's her in the picture, her name is Kenna. She used to sell herself on these streets to any slimebag needing a quick favor in order to support a nasty heroin habit, until I found her and hauled her ass to the nearest drug rehab facility," Iceman explained as they passed through the Crystal Waters district, past the same Well Stacked Pizza where he encountered those three thugs out for Donnie's head.

"I take it you pissed off quite a few people in the process, huh?" Artie asked while examining the photo.

"Damn right I did, but in the end it was worth it because I finally saw her starting to turn her life around. She had gotten an apartment and was making progress towards her dream of becoming a veterinarian," Iceman half-growled, the rage building in his tone. "She used to work for some prick named Cotton Dale, who claimed she was one of his top 'moneymakers.' When he found out she was leaving him, he harassed her at every turn up until I put a bullet in his kneecap."

"Sounds like a Grade A prick," Artie grunted.

"He's the lowest form of shit, not for what he's done to my cousin, but to a lot of women around this city. I know only he could be up to something like this. The bastard had two goons show up and take her right out of my store in broad daylight while I was away, roughed up one of my buddies too. Had I been there I would've shot them up and then chopped off their dicks and mailed them back to the son of a bitch!"

"And just what does this Cotton Dale prick look like?" Artie asked, finally gaining some interest in the matter.

"A scrawny bastard, who wears gaudy clothes, has a gold tooth and walks with a limp. You'll know who he is once you see him, trust me. The only problem is I don't know exactly where he lives, but I do know Rocca Foo is one of his bitches. I get my hands on that eraser-headed son of a bitch, I find Cotton Dale," Iceman explained.

Iceman pursued the Broadway until they found themselves driving through an arch supported by red pillars encircled by dragon statues. They had now entered Chinatown and were surrounded from all sides by bright red buildings, signs with traditional Chinese lettering and various stands set up where the peddlers were selling all kinds of traditional food, the aromas causing Artie's mouth to water.

"Don't be doing too much eyeballing around here, the Triads don't like it," Iceman spoke up as he noticed Artie checking out a young female vendor at an outdoor antique market.

The errand boy saw what he was talking about as a small group of Chinese men in white suits walked through the market, all of their outfits decorated by golden dragon designs.

"The Enlightened Path," Iceman spoke up, "Very traditional mobsters. They're alright as long as you don't fuck with them."

"I'll keep that in mind," Artie replied as he noticed one of the Triads talking to a police officer and being handed a wad of cash.

It wasn't much longer before Iceman noticed the Broadway pulling to a stop outside of Sum Han Job's Massage Parlor and watching as Rocca Foo stepped out, removing his purple floor-length mink coat and handing it to a doorman.

"Alright, we've got the fucker right where we want him," Iceman said pulling the Patriot to a stop behind the purple Broadway.

"So what are we doing?" Artie asked as Iceman inspected his revolver.

"I'm going to make the son of a bitch talk; you're going to stay in the lobby to make sure nobody calls the cops. Hopefully this should be a quick in and out. It'll depend how ballsy the fucker is feeling," Iceman said making his way towards the massage parlor, "I hear he likes to talk a lot of smack, but isn't much of a fighter."

"Right," Artie replied as they made their way inside, only to be stopped by the doorman.

"Do you have an appointment sir? You must leave if-" the man spoke to them in a broken English accent, only until Iceman drove his fist into the man's face and reached down to grab his key ring.

The duo stepped into the lobby and found themselves in a very quiet, relaxing atmosphere where incense wafted through the air and traditional Chinese music played quietly in the background. Several expensive Ming vases, paintings and statues decorated the room and it was an almost wondrous sight for the hitman until he was distracted by the woman at the front counter.

"We're sorry sir, but we are booked to the max for appointments," the receptionist spoke up. She was about to say something else when Iceman walked over and placed his large gun on her desk.

"Well then you're gonna have to make room for one," he growled, "Rocca Foo, what room is he in?"

"Rocca Foo?" the woman asked nervously as she eyed the revolver, her pulse racing and her eyes nearly bulging out of her sockets.

"You know who I'm talking about; faggot likes to wear purple and has hair that makes him look like Phuckmeat on crack," Iceman said as he heard a low whimper coming from behind him.

Artie looked over to see two women who had been carrying stacks of towels and a younger man whom he assumed was a janitor, all of them quivering with fear upon noticing the two armed men.

"Get over here now!" Artie said pointing his Uzi at the trio.

"Do what he says!" Iceman shouted pointing his own gun towards them.

The frightened trio did as told and made their way towards the center of the lobby, where Artie grabbed each of them and forced them to sit at his feet, his aim wavering on all three of them.

"Now tell me, where the fuck is Rocca Foo, and don't think I didn't see him come in here. I'm not slant eyed like all of you. I see things clearly," Iceman growled pressing the barrel against her forehead.

"Room three," she blurted out, "He's here for his weekly massage with Ming Wu!"

"Thank you," Iceman replied grabbing the nearby phone and ripping it out of the wall, "Stay here and make sure none of them try anything funny. I should be out in a few minutes."

"You heard the man," Artie said training his Uzi on the first woman's head, "I hear a peep outta any of you you're gonna be licking up your buddy's brains with your tongues!"

Iceman made his way down the hall with his gun drawn, remaining as quiet as he could until he found the door labeled room three and put an ear to the door listening to what was happening inside.

"Aw yeah Ming baby you sure now how to hit the spot!" the High Ryder called out in his annoying high-pitched voice, followed by a girlish giggle.

"Now I rub big American snake," the masseuse replied.

"Aw yeah, you know I love it even more when you use those fine lips of yours," Rocca Foo replied.

Iceman had heard enough and kicked the door open.

"What the fuck?" Rocca Foo shouted, lying on the table covered in just a white towel, reaching for a Glock 17, "Ain't nobody gonna ruin-"

Before he could say anything else Iceman was firing a round through his left hand, causing Ming Wu to let out an ear-piercing shriek. The gun runner then turned his attention to the masseuse, who was clad in nothing but a blue silk robe that ended just above her thighs.

"I'm in no mood for blasting a lady. Get the fuck outta here!" Iceman shouted to her before returning his attention to Rocca Foo and bringing his boot down on the man's good hand, "You've got one hand left to jerk off with buddy, don't make me ruin that for you too!"

"Wh-what the fuck do you want from m-m-me-ooooowwwww!" the gangster screamed in pain as Iceman applied pressure to his wrist.

"Cotton Dale, where the fuck is he?" the gun runner screamed.

"Y-Y-You want him?" Rocca Foo stuttered.

"Are you fucking deaf? Yes I want to know where Cotton Dale is!" Iceman shouted stomping on his wrist and casing him to scream out in pain again.

"I-I-I-I-I don't know where h-he is!" the High Ryderz screamed as tears streamed down his face, only to receive another bullet, this time to his kneecap.

"I am a man of little patience and now is not a good time to be pissing me off!" Iceman screamed, "Tell me where the fuck Cotton Dale is!"

"Salmon Ridge!" Rocca Foo squealed, "Salmon Ridge! He has an estate there!"

Having heard what he needed Iceman stepped back, "See, that wasn't so hard now was it? All you needed to do was simply say where he was and none of this would have happened," he spoke in a patronizing tone.

The High Ryder shot his eyes open and looked up towards the gun runner, "D-D-Does this mean you're g-gonna let me…live?"

"No," Iceman flatly replied firing a final round into his face. _"At least now I don't have to look at that ugly hairdo," _the gun runner thought to himself making his way back into the lobby, where Artie stood guard over the employees and was in the middle of stomping on a Whiz Ballsak.

"My Ballsak!" the janitor cried, "I had my screenplay stored on there!"

"Consider this compensation," Artie said pistol whipping the young man with his Uzi.

"C'mon, we gotta go," Iceman said walking towards the front door, stopping to face the hostages, "Call the cops and we'll be back for your heads!"

Artie chased after his companion, who had stomped to knock the recovering doorman back into unconsciousness. "What did you find out?"

"We're heading for Salmon Ridge," Iceman said climbing into his Patriot and starting it up, "Cotton Dale has an estate there. We're going to pay the little shit a visit. Be ready to rock 'cause some heads are gonna roll!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Iceman said it best himself, heads are going to roll in the next chapter! At this point I haven't had too much action, but I promise that will pick up in the next chapter so stay tuned for more gratuitous bloodshed!

Now onto my list of random notes, "Sworn for Battle" is a spoof of "Call of Duty," Phuckmeat is a spoof of "Buckwheat" from the "Our Gang/Little Rascals" series. The guy I based Rocca Foo after reminded me of him with his crazy hair. Whiz Ballsak is intended to be a spoof of the Blackberry and since the Whiz phone service from GTA4 was a slang term for urination, Ballsak would be my added sexual innuendo.

Rocca Foo was intended to be a spoof of Kid from the 90's rap duo Kid n' Play. I always thought that guy looked like a yahoo so it was fun for me to lampoon him, although Rocca Foo was intended to be a more adult-oriented version of him.

Physically I would say Iceman is intended to be inspired by a more muscular version of Jonny Davy, frontman of the badass metal group Job for a Cowboy.

Well okay I think that's everything for this point so until then read and review or else Old Freda's gonna be coming for you and she's hungry!

SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	6. Estate of Emergency

Author's Note: This chapter is the second part of "The Iceman Cometh."

Chapter 6: Estate of Emergency

The drive to Salmon Ridge had taken the duo over to Jefferson Vale, a trip hampered by traffic, road construction and the police chasing after Iceman when they caught him speeding. It had taken some driving along the side streets before he had managed to lose them and was now coming to their intended destination.

Salmon Ridge was an upper class neighborhood with streets lined with mansions and fancy sports cars parked in their driveways, almost all of the houses having their own private pools, tennis courts and in one person's case, their own baseball diamond. The community was also home to the Mary Pines Country Club, the Galileo Observatory and the Jefferson Cricket Club.

_"No doubt we're standing out like sore thumbs already," _Artie thought to himself looking over to his right where a number of young adults had congregated outside the Rainbow Party disco, all of them surrounded by fancy street racing cars, and a few of them clad in banana yellow jackets. He looked over to his left where Iceman was smoking a cigarette while blasting his heavy metal, arousing a few stares from the group, as well as those of other fancily-dressed locals.

"Alright, we should be close. This Cotton Dale prick can't hide forever," Iceman said lowering the volume as he turned onto a street lined with weeping willow trees and was scanning his head back and forth for anything that could have screamed 'home of a two-bit pimp' to him.

Artie too kept his eyes peeled, finding himself temporarily distracted by an attractive blonde sunbathing on her front lawn in a pink bikini. Once she was out of view his eyes returned to the houses and he shot a finger out, "Over there."

"Think you found it?" Iceman asked, stopping when he saw what he was talking about.

Artie had been pointing to an estate surrounded by a gate, which itself had the initials 'CD' on the handles in solid gold.

"That's gotta be the place," the errand boy replied, noticing a man in a purple suit on one of the balconies whom he assumed was probably a lookout.

"Well then it's time to get to work," Iceman said driving around until he found a back alley behind a Zip clothing store and switched the SUV off.

Climbing out the gun runner made his way around to the back and opened the tailgate, causing Artie to let out a loud whistle.

"Jesus fucking Christ man, do you always drive around with your little arsenal in the back of your truck?" the errand boy asked as he observed all the firearms and explosives present.

"Hey, I am a gun runner remember," Iceman said pulling out a Kevlar vest and handing it to Artie before taking one of his own.

"Well why did you have to take me over to that Ammu-Nation when you could've just given me something right outta your own vehicle?" Artie asked as the dealer strapped a holster around his shin and slipped a KA-BAR combat knife into it.

"Gotta give my buddy business every now and then, plus I thought I'd at least get a laugh out of seeing how you'd handle Colt. You definitely showed more balls than I expected," Iceman said grabbing a Type 68 AKM assault rifle along with a few clips.

"Uh…okay," Artie replied not knowing whether he should take that as a compliment as he grabbed a Benelli M4 Super 90 semi-automatic shotgun along with a handful of shells and a line of M67 fragmentation grenades.

"Relax man, just stick to the game plan and we'll be having some beers once this shit's over with," Iceman replied grabbing his own line of grenades.

"Which is?" Artie asked loading shells into the Benelli.

"We go in and blast the shit outta those motherfuckers, grab my cousin and any other women we can and then get the hell outta there," Iceman replied, "If we can save more than one woman from this prick's tyranny we might as well do so," he said performing a last minute check over his weapons.

"Can't say I disagree with that," Artie nodded in agreement following after his companion as they attempted to find a way to sneak around the compound walls.

They eventually found a spot where a Caddy had been abandoned near one of the outer walls and Iceman was up first, followed by Artie. Once they cleared the wall they took cover behind a hedge, listening to the thumping bass of music coming from within, leaving them to wonder if he was having a party.

The duo snuck along until they happened across a guard in a custom-tailored purple suit crassly relieving himself on the statue of a nude angel. Iceman raised hand signaling for Artie to stay put and withdrew his knife, sneaking up on the thug and clamping his hand over the man's mouth before drawing the blade across his throat. Looking around to make sure nobody saw him, he dragged the man's corpse over and positioned it behind the bush, with Artie stopping to search his pockets for money and ammo, finding $60 and an extra clip compatible with his Glock.

"Shh, someone else is coming," Iceman whispered and peeked around the hedge to see another purple-clad guard who was walking past with an Armalite AR-180B equipped with a laser sight, a joint stuck between his lips.

"This asshole's mine," Artie replied pulling out his baseball bat and waiting for the thug to pass before sneaking up on him and waiting until he was nearly touching him before wrapping the bat around the man's throat and choking him violently before letting him fall to his knees. With the man left helpless, Artie took a step back and delivered a home run swing, obliterating the man's head in a gory mess that sent brain matter flying against the nearest exterior wall with a wet splat.

"Heh, if this organized crime bit doesn't work out you should give the Statesmen a call. They've been having a pretty shitty season so far," Iceman snickered as his companion dragged the man's body behind a fountain.

"I'll keep that in mind," Artie sardonically chuckled as they crept along the house, stopping as they spotted another guard, whom Iceman would dispatch with a stab to the lower back, followed by him slicing the man's throat to assure his death.

The duo crept along until they came across another flower garden with a large fountain in the center. A guard relaxed on a wooden bench with his back to them, a bottle of malt liquor in his hand and an MP5 submachine gun resting next to him.

"Man, fuck that Cotton Dale nigga'," the guard grumbled, "I oughta' be inside with all those hot bitches."

"You want this one?" Iceman asked.

"Gladly," Artie nodded again raising his bat and creeping up behind the guard, drawing his arms backward and delivering another swing for the fences that crushed the man's skull like a watermelon.

"What the fuck?" they heard a voice call out and turned to find another guard stepping outside with a Remington 870 shotgun in his hands.

"So much for sneaking around," Artie muttered as he leapt for cover behind the fountain, leaving Iceman to finish off the thug with a barrage of rounds to the chest.

Muffled screams were heard from within the mansion and Iceman looked up to see one of the plate glass doors sliding open and another thug emerging with a rifle in hand. Again Iceman would be the quicker of the two and fired a three shot burst that caught the man in the chest and sent him tumbling over the railing, hitting the grass with a sickening crack.

"We got some sucka's rollin' up on us!" the heard another guard call out and three more guards emerged, two of them packing shotguns and the third packing an AK-47.

"Time to rock n' roll!" Iceman shouted to Artie raising his rifle and firing upon the trio, who had managed to scatter for cover.

"You cracka' bitches are gonna be sorry," one of the shotgunners called back as he stepped out to fire a blast at Artie, his round of buckshot shredding through the wooden bench and the flowers behind it. The hitman withdrew his Uzi and fired a salvo of screaming lead upon the thug, who managed to retreat in time. Two more guards had appeared and were firing wildly upon the invaders.

Artie and Iceman found themselves outnumbered and seriously outgunned, a dire situation which left the hitman scanning the area for anything he could use to his advantage. "Looks like I have no other choice," he whispered to himself and unclipped one of the grenades, pulling the pin and chucking it out into the open. There was an "Oh shit" heard before the grenade detonated, followed by shrieks of agony.

Iceman watched as the guard was sent flying backwards with both of his legs severed below the knees. Another guard had thrown himself to the ground with his hands over his head and was now pushing himself back to his feet, allowing the weapons dealer a one shot kill that completely obliterated the entire upper half of the hoodlum's skull before switching his aim towards another Ryder armed with a Tec-9 and filling his stomach with flesh-tearing rounds.

Artie had been forced to take cover behind a small brick pillar, its surface rapidly chipped away by the continuous automatic fire from the relentless hoodlums. How many were left, he had no clue, but knew he had to take them all out or else they would hound him and his companion until the very end.

Peeking out from behind the pillar, he spotted a thug that had taken refuge alongside the patio who was armed with an AK-47 and preparing to return fire upon the retreating Iceman. Steadying his aim he squeezed the trigger and knocked the gun from the man's hands, followed by an additional three rounds that found their way into the man's chest.

"You can't kill us all you sons of bitches!" another thug called out, "Sooner or later we're gonna get cha' and string you up by your puny dicks!"

"You assholes are gonna pay for kidnapping my cousin! Nobody fucks with my family!" Iceman hollered back as he stepped out to fire another barrage, a few of his rounds catching a thug that had attempted to dive for cover back inside the house. The man writhed on the ground screaming in agony unable to do anything else. He would soon bleed to death from his injuries.

"C'mon Artie, I'm through fucking around with these yahoos. Let's find my cousin and get the hell outta here!" Iceman called out, just in time to take a few rounds to his covered chest. The man's adrenaline was pumping on overdrive and he systematically moved forth firing another barrage into the oncoming wave of guards. When he was angry he barely registered pain, another reason behind his moniker.

The Uzi had run out of ammo and with no time to reload he drew the Benelli and fired a blast that blew another man's leg off beneath the kneecap, leaving the hapless hoodlum to scream weakly before he bled out. Iceman's AKM had run out of ammo and Artie covered him as he reloaded, pumping another round that destroyed a guard's shoulder before finishing him off with another blast that left what remained of his intestines spilling out of the fresh gaping wound. Carefully stepping around the fresh blood pool he chased his companion inside.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What? What the fuck do ya' mean ya' can't stop those bastards causin' all that ruckus outside? There's just two of those dickless faggots, how can y'all be that damned incompetent? Fucking kill them already!" Cotton Dale screamed into his cell phone, the veins on his skinny mahogany neck threatening to burst from beneath the surface at any given time.

"They can't be that hard to kill," he continued in his high-pitched wail, "Find them and fucking kill them! They're not freaking Marvel Man or any of those other comic character types, they can be fuckin' kill by a bullet to the skull y'know. It can be done. Either way they ain't gettin' up here, now do I make myself clear?"

_"Crystal clear boss, we'll have them dealt with right away," _the man on the other line replied before hanging up.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" the pimp bellowed, tossing his cell phone to the floor and shattering it into a million pieces. Despite his scrawny frame, the man could possess the strength of a buffalo when deeply angered; one of his own subordinates learned that the hard way after he spilled his wine on the carpeting in his dining room.

"And what the fuck are y'all starin' at? Get yo' bitch asses back into position! I ain't payin' y'all to stand around lookin' pretty like my ladies!" the pimp shouted raising his cane into the air.

The guards posted around the large room nodded anxiously as they stood with weapons drawn. Everybody was on edge after receiving the news of two men having found their way onto the estate grounds and now working their way inside.

Nonetheless, it was a battle Cotton Dale was prepared to win.

"Nobody fucks with tha' Cotton Dale and gets away with it," he grumbled to himself sitting down on his plush tiger-print couch and reached for the nearest bottle of any alcoholic substance he could find, grabbing a glass and pouring himself a drink.

The room he was in right now he considered to be his 'man cave,' more like a 'man palace' for a fellow of his expensive tastes, one that made many lower level High Ryderz green with envy.

The living area he presently occupied was lined with comfy couches and chairs, as well as possessing its own state of the art home entertainment system with a high-definition television built into the wall across from him, currently playing a classic Candy Suxxx flick 'That Can't Be Legal,' lights and smoke machines for a club-like ambiance, a mini-bar installed in the corner, more than one pool table, an air hockey table and a whole bunch of stripper poles and cages, along with a fish tank filled with all sorts of exotic imported fish. There was even a baby grand piano set up, where at the moment, a frightened player continued to perform under the threat of being shot dead by the mentally unstable pimp had he refused, a fate that had befallen the man before him.

_"That's right, you bitches just keep comin' to me," _he thought pulling out a Cuban cigar and lit it with his expensive gold-plated lighter.

"Hey Boss, you think we should call for reinforcements?" a shotgun-toting thug asked, reaching into his pocket for an unseen cell phone.

"For now just wait, there can't be any way those bitches could make it this far," the pimp replied chugging the contents of his glass down and slamming it hard onto the counter before standing up and reaching for his cane, which had a design of a nude woman carved onto it.

_"Now to have some fun, not going to let those bitches ruin the mood for me," _he thought to himself hobbling over to the double doors leading to his bedroom.

The master bedroom was one fit for a king.

The room screamed grandeur with its white carpeting, marble pillars, torch-like lamps, numerous well-maintained plants and spectacular view of the forests and mountains of nearby Roosevelt Hills. It had also been customized to fit his personal needs with a hot tub installed in the corner of the room, several stripper poles, another home entertainment center, numerous expensive paintings lining the walls and other crafts placed carefully around the room. In the center of the western wall was a king-sized bed that would make anybody rush for it right away, wanting to be enveloped by its seemingly endless comfort…everybody except its current occupant.

Lying on the bed was a dark-haired woman whose hair was highlighted by aqua blue streaks. Her clothes were ripped and her face was bruised from a recent beating. Her mouth was gagged and her wrists and ankles were bound together tight enough to prevent any kind of resistance.

Wasting no time Cotton Dale hobbled over and sat down on the bed next to her.

"Ah Kenna, you have no idea how happy I've been since ya' decided to come crawlin' back to your favorite daddy," he cackled, gently stroking her cheek and playfully brushing an aqua blue tuft aside, prompting a muffled shriek as she attempted to thrash her whole body at him. She was stopped dead in her tracks by a vicious backhand, the pimp's rings leaving scratches across her delicate cheek.

"Don't cha' get it honey? Nobody leaves the Cotton Dale, nobody…unless it's in a body bag!" he snickered dementedly, "Now, I remember how ya' were always one of my top moneymakers baby and all the dough ya' brought me…how's about we take ourselves a little stroll down Memory Lane…and I rediscover why I hired you in the first place," the pimp said shoving the woman flat onto her back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The duo pushed their way into the kitchen and following another shotgun blast, a tall thug's head was reduced to nothing more than tiny crimson chunks.

"Any idea where the prick is?" Artie asked ejecting a spent shell casing.

"Don't know, but we're gonna rip apart every room if we have to," Iceman replied stepping over the eviscerated corpse of another High Ryder as he pushed his way into the dining room, ducking for cover as a thug equipped with an M24 sniper rifle fired a round in his direction as more thugs carrying submachine guns filtered into the dining room.

Artie was quick to back up the gun runner, peeking into the dining room and firing a blast from his shotgun that sent one of the guards crumbling to the floor and pulling the table's apron down with him as he fell. He took aim and shredded another thug's chest apart before he was forced to duck back into the kitchen, but having bought enough time for Iceman to peek up and fire a volley of rounds at the sniper and catching him with a round to the collarbone.

By now the hitman had reloaded his Uzi and fired a burst into the side of an oncoming High Ryder, collapsing the man against the table before Iceman killed him with a blast to the face. Artie threw himself into the dining room rolling for cover behind the dining room table and popping up to fire a burst at another guard, who ducked out of the way and tried to fire at his shins, forcing the errand boy to leap backwards. Pulling out a hand grenade he chucked it over the table, causing the guard to leap up and try running away, only for him to be cut down by a barrage to the back. He was still caught within the blast radius and was flung forward into an antique grandfather clock.

A woman's scream rang out as Artie ducked down to avoid another guard aiming towards him from the catwalk.

"You think that could be Kenna?" Artie asked as he reached over to grab the M-4 of a recently deceased thug.

"We're gonna have to find out," Iceman shouted back as he bolted up and ran over to kick open a nearby door, only to throw himself against the wall a second later to avoid a barrage of rounds fired in his direction.

"You bitches ain't going any further!" a thug cried out before firing another salvo of hot lead. "Give it up now and we'll make it quick and painless!"

"Like fucking hell you will," Iceman shouted back before drawing his Colt Anaconda and firing two quick rounds, both of which missed and seemed to piss his attackers off even further. "I ain't got time for this shit," the smuggler said pulling out another grenade and chucking it into the hall, another explosion ringing out followed by the dying screams of another thug. "C'mon!"

The duo exited the dining room and made their way through a side corridor, much of the once pristine carpeting now blackened by the explosion and several paintings knocked from the walls. The woman's screams came from down the hall and were followed by another voice.

"Keep shooting! I don't care what's going on out there! We have a deadline to meet. We'll edit all the gunfire and explosions out!" a man's voice called out.

"It came from over there," Iceman shouted making his way over to a nearby door and hugging the wall. Artie took a position at the opposite side and the gun runner counted down from three on his fingers before delivering a hard boot which knocked the door from its hinges.

The duo found themselves in a small study where two frightened women were engaged in a threesome with a bald muscular African-American male while a lanky man in a purple baseball cap sat in a director's chair and another man held a portable camera.

"We're shooting a porno! Get the fuck outta here you bastards!" the director shouted before he was cut down by a round to the throat compliments of Iceman's revolver. The cameraman would soon follow after taking a bullet to the chest and the actor was left screaming in pain after the gun runner fired a round into his crotch.

"Early retirement's a bitch, ain't it?" Iceman asked before turning his attention to the two women, "Get the hell outta here!"

The two frightened naked women ran screaming out of the room while the duo left the once well-endowed actor to slowly bleed to death.

"Not her, we gotta keep moving," Iceman said reloading the AKM and stepping back into the hallway, where two more High Ryderz had stepped in guns blazing. Out of desperation Artie leapt across the hall and ended up crashing through a nearby door, shrugging off the pain as he pushed himself back to his feet and fired a volley at one of the thugs and sent him slumping against the nearest wall while his companion managed to drop the other with several rounds to the chest.

Artie was about to reenter the hall when he heard a frightened whimper coming from behind him and turned around to see a blond-haired woman cowering in a corner, clad in nothing but a sullied purple towel.

"Where's Kenna?" he demanded, keeping his rifle raised as he didn't know if the woman had something hidden on her or not. Nevertheless, she appeared to be frightened with her mascara turning her tears an ominous black.

"He…He…took her!" she stammered throwing her arms protectively over her head.

"Cotton Dale?" Artie asked.

"Y-Y-Yes…she was his…favorite…" the woman whimpered, "Please don't kill me!"

Artie cursed silently to himself before hearing more feminine screams in the distance. Checking his current clip he turned to the woman, "Alright, get out of here now!"

"C'mon, we gotta fucking move," he said to Iceman upon reentering the hallway and the duo proceeded back into the war torn dining room and through the double doors, immediately looking to their right to find three High Ryderz struggling to hold back a small group of hookers who were attempting to escape, smacking them around with the butts of their automatic weapons.

"You bitches ain't goin' nowhere! You're Cotton Dale's property!" one of the crooks shouted.

Not giving the men any time to react, Artie opened fire and caught one of them in the back of the head, splattering his brains all over the women they had been abusing. He then turned his attention to the other two thugs and let loose with a volley that tore both men's chests open and spilled their insides on the floor around them. Two more thugs appeared in an attempt to avenge their fallen friends, only for one of them to wind up with his brains painting the light blue wallpaper behind him and the other felled by a round to the throat which sent his blood gushing out like a fountain.

"That's how you fucking do it Artie!" Iceman hooted just as another door opened behind him and a chubby thug emerged with his pants around his ankles and a sawed-off shotgun in his hands, one to fall after one of Iceman's rounds bore a crater through his face.

"Get the fuck outta here!" Artie screamed to the frightened women, just as a woman clad in a dominatrix-like leather outfit and wearing a purple trench coat appeared from around a corner armed with a SPAS-12 shotgun. Not even bothering for the frightened hookers to clear out she fired a barrage of buckshot that caught one of the women in the back and struck vital organs, leaving her dead before she hit the ground. Artie in turn responded with a barrage to the woman's stock, leaving her puking out blood as she lay dying.

"Too bad, you were hot. I would have fucked you," Artie spat tossing the emptied M-4 to the floor and again pulling out his Benelli.

"No time to be resorting to necrophilia Chief, I've got a cousin to rescue," Iceman said pushing him forward and they continued down the corridor until they were met by a bloodied Latina.

"Over here fuck face!" a voice called out from behind and a thug stripped down to his boxers grabbed the woman from behind, an Uzi in his free hand. He laughed hysterically as he squeezed the trigger, forcing both men to dive for cover in rooms across from each other.

"Where you going? We wanna play!" the thug laughed while his human shield pleaded for her life.

_"Time to put that target practice to use," _Artie thought as he withdrew the Glock, unable to hear the armed goon's approach due to the woman's frantic sobs. He mentally counted down and with a deep breath stepped into the hallway and squeezed off a round.

The bullet tore off the man's right ear and he screamed in pain, forcing him to release his hostage, but not before he squeezed the trigger and several of his rounds found their way into Artie's bulletproof vest and knocked him backwards into the wall.

Heavily winded and feeling like he had just been pelted by a bunch of bricks, Artie raised the Glock and fired out of desperation until he managed to spot that all important flash of red, followed by the man's pained gurgling as the rounds found their way into his exposed chest and stomach.

With the woman fleeing in terror the hitman returned his focus to finding Iceman and found him in the adjoining billiard room, where he was in the process of freeing a woman with her arms tied above her. Artie's eyes widened as he recognized the blonde-haired woman, even underneath the scratches and bruises of a recent beating.

"Sunny?" he asked as Iceman ripped the duct tape away from her lips.

The woman grimaced in pain and coughed up a storm before replying, "That bastard…he said he needed to 'expand his market' and had some of his shit stain goons kidnap me and a bunch of other girls. I tried to put up a fight, but there were too many of them."

"Damn that fucker," Artie grumbled before taking notice of her ripped clothing; "They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

"Nope, but they were about to when they heard all the gunfire," the hooker replied straightening out her clothes, "Thank God you two showed up when you did. You're both regular knights in shining armor, y'know that?"

"Well I'm glad to be of service, but you'd better get out of here now. Iceman and I are here to kill that Cotton Dale fucker and rescue his cousin," Artie replied scanning the blood-drenched hallway to make sure the coast was clear.

"Then count me in," Sunny said rushing over and grabbing a Skorpion Vz 61 submachine gun from the nearby bar counter.

"But Sunny-" Artie was about to protest, only to find himself cut off.

"I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself," she sharply retorted, checking over the gun with the precision of someone who bore some familiarity with firearms, "I wanna stop this prick as badly as you do after what I saw him do to those other girls."

"Then what the fuck are we doing standing around here with our thumbs up our asses? We've gotta fucking move!" Iceman said taking off down the hall, stopping only to blast a purple-clad thug emerging from a bathroom.

The trio eventually came to a stairwell where two more guards armed with assault rifles waited for them, forcing Iceman to take cover behind a marble pillar while Artie and Sunny took cover behind a display case filled with all sorts of ancient armor and weapons.

Waiting for their enemies to run out of ammo, Iceman stepped into the open and fired another barrage that ripped away the plaster above one of the kneeling guards and managed to graze his shoulder, forcing him to drop his weapon. Leaping to his feet in pain the man was soon finished by a fatal round to the throat.

Artie took notice of the other guard rising to his feet ready to fire and leapt out to fire a round directly into the man's kneecap, sending him writhing to the ground before Iceman pulled out a grenade and chucked it in his direction, blowing the man's blackened carcass down to the floor below.

Two more thugs, a man and a woman, both attempted to ambush Artie and Sunny, but the hooker handled herself pretty well and dropped them both in a lethal spray and succeeded in knocking the weapon out of a third Ryder's hands before her clip ran dry.

"I'm out," she cried over the rattle of automatic fire.

Artie watched as one of the guards became filled with bravado upon the revelation and made a beeline for the woman. _"What a fucking suicidal idiot," _he thought firing a barrage into the oncoming creep.

Iceman managed to take down any remaining guards and charged up the stairs towards a set of double doors outlined by pink neon lights.

"Alright, we've got those fuckers. Let's show these bitches we mean business," the muscular weapons dealer shouted as he performed a textbook football tackle through the doors, managing to take one of Cotton Dale's hired guns by surprise and send him flying over the nearby railing.

The deafening rattle of numerous assault rifles discharging simultaneously soon followed and Iceman was forced to take cover behind a partition.

"Now's our cue," Artie said to Sunny as she swiped up a downed thug's AK-74 and the two of them charged inward as the other guards were distracted.

The gun trained his Benelli on a thug positioned near a gaudy black and white tiger-striped couch and let loose, sending him sprawling onto it and painting its surface a dark shade of crimson. Taking cover behind a loveseat he popped up and fired upon two other thugs positioned near a pool table, sending the first thug slumping onto its surface and then shooting down the overhead lighting fixture and striking the other man with it before killing him.

_"Just like the movies…only better," _Artie thought to himself as he fired into another guard and sent him falling backwards into a large fish tank, cracking the glass and spilling its contents all over his freshly-bloodied corpse.

Grimacing slightly at the recoil of the powerful AK-74, Sunny didn't let it slow her down as she took down three thugs that had taken cover behind the mini bar and then adjusted her sights over to the nearby baby grand piano, where she fired a barrage into a thug standing near it and sent the man slumping forward, the piano's lid coming down and breaking his neck.

Iceman crouch walked along a partition, popping up every few seconds to fire at Cotton Dale's henchmen. He was more concerned about finding Kenna and was getting fed up with the wave after wave of High Ryderz being sent in his direction.

A frightened whimper startled the weapons dealer and turning with his gun raised he found a lanky man in a white tuxedo shirt and black bowtie cowering with his hands over his head. Looking up the man took notice of him and tried crawling away, but Iceman quickly snatched him by the ankle and twisted it at an awkward angle.

"Tell me where the fuck Cotton Dale is or else I break your ankle in three different places," he growled, clamping down for emphasis, but not enough to actually break his bones.

"He's in the master bedroom!" the man blurted out, "Through the double doors. He took some woman in there with him too!"

"Kenna," he blurted aloud, releasing the man and peeking towards the back of the living quarters, where he spotted the double doors with the initials 'CD' painted on them in gold paint.

"Stop these fuckers; I'm going after that needle-dicked asshole!" Iceman ordered throwing himself over the partition and charging head on towards the double doors, ignorant of the bullets whizzing past him and leaping over the bodies falling beneath him as Artie and Sunny provided cover.

With another mighty shoulder tackle Iceman threw himself through the double doors and came to a tuck and roll, only to be met by the pumping of a shotgun.

"Why hello Iceman, I see we get to meet again," a high-pitched voice chuckled.

The weapons dealer looked up to see a lanky African-American standing before him clad in a fluffy floor-length purple mink coat with the initials 'CD' embroidered on the back in rhinestones thanks to the numerous mirrors lining the walls, a matching pimp suit underneath, black and white dress shoes, and countless gold necklaces around his neck and large rings on every finger excluding his thumbs.

In the man's hands was the source of the pumping noise, a cane which had the figure of a nude woman carved into it.

_"Shit, I forgot about the cane. It's really a disguised shotgun," _Iceman scolded himself, left to the mercy of a madman.

"I recall the last time we met, ya' put a bullet in my knee," Cotton Dale spoke, his voice turning into a near-feral growl, "I couldn't 'test drive' any of my new bitches for weeks because of you."

"Yeah…I remember that…" Iceman replied, trying to think up a plan spur of the moment.

"I take it ya' musta' come to say goodbye to your cousin, didn't cha'?" Cotton Dale taunted, "Tryin' ta' play tha' big strong hero and everything…didn't cha' know that's only in the movies? Christ, havin' the people be pullin' that shit 'round these parts only gets themselves killed. Don't be worryin' too much though, I am a fair man and will give ya' tha' chance to say goodbye."

Stepping aside, Kenna lay on her side with her wrists and ankles bound together, most of her clothing tattered and her face covered in dried blood. Iceman saw the fear in her eyes and it made his blood boil, forcing him to do everything he could to not lash out at the shotgun-wielding pimp.

"Such a touching moment this has been, but now it's gotta end," the pimp said training his shotgun cane on Iceman's forehead, "When you're on the highway to Hell, you'll know why ya' shoulda' never fucked with the Cotton Dale."

It suddenly clicked in Iceman's mind.

All this time Cotton Dale had been standing on a royal purple throw rug and the smuggler himself was at the very end of it. Without warning, he clamped down and yanked the carpet as hard as he could, forcing the pimp flat onto his back and firing his shotgun into the ceiling.

"Now you fucking die you two-bit dog!" Iceman roared pulling out his Colt Anaconda and firing every round into the pimp's face until it was reduced to a pile of ragged bloody strips.

"Burn in Hell you rapist bastard," he muttered taking one last glimpse at the dead pimp before walking over and pulling out his knife to slice through his cousin's bonds.

Kenna quickly ripped the duct tape away from her lips and fell into her cousin's waiting arms.

"Oh god Pete…I was so scared! I thought I'd never see you or anybody else ever again! That fucking bastard wanted to drag me back to Hell all over again!" she sobbed bitterly, squeezing her muscular cousin tightly.

"Don't you worry Squirt, you've always been like a little sister to me and it'll be a cold day in Hell before I allow anybody else to touch you like that ever again," Iceman replied looking down and noticing the blood all over her legs, "He didn't, did he?"

"No…," she gasped, "…but he was close…he would have too if you didn't come when you did…"

Iceman sighed deeply in relief as he held his cousin and gently stroked her matted hair. It was a small victory, not just for him, but his newfound friend as well. He looked back into the living area, where Artie had just gunned down the last remaining henchman and carefully approached his body.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After one final burst the last guard fell flat onto his back with five smoking holes in his chest.

"Piece of cake," Artie chuckled ejecting his spent clip and reaching into his pockets to find nothing left for his Uzi.

_"Hey Bub, are you there?" _he heard a voice calling out.

"The hell?" Artie whispered as he carefully approached the body, almost expecting it to be booby trapped or something along those lines. Nudging the body with his shoe there was no movement. Using his foot to overturn the body he found an orange and black Whiz cell phone underneath.

_"Bub, talk to me!" _the voice called out from the other end.

Picking the phone up, he saw the call was made by some guy named Jocko and listened for any suspicious background noises, hearing some loud hip-hop music playing in the background, followed by a few more voices and revving engines.

_"Shit, he's not talking. Somebody must've gotten to them. C'mon High Ryderz, let's roll out!"_

"Oh fuck, we've gotta get outta here. The High Ryderz are gonna be sending back up," Artie shouted.

"We're right behind you," Iceman called out helping Kenna out of the master bedroom with her arm around his shoulder.

The quartet made their way through the once grand halls of the war torn estate and had succeed in reaching the front doors when the front gates opened and two Broadways came into view followed by a purple Stretch that was blasting "Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO.

"We're too late!" Sunny shouted.

Granted there were only three vehicles and not a much larger army, but it still dealt much concern for four weary individuals that had just survived one hellacious battle and were dangerously low on ammo, most of it already expended against the desperate, undisciplined thugs they had just gone up against.

"Looks like we're just gonna have to fight our way out," Artie said pumping his shotgun.

A smile crossed Iceman's face as he looked back to his three companions, "That's exactly what I wanted to hear!"

"Time to die you inbred fucks!" one of the Ryderz shouted stepping out from the Broadway with an Ingram MAC-10 in hand, managing to squeeze of a few rounds before Iceman dropped him with a round that blew off the left side of his forehead, obliterating the portions of skull underneath.

Three more thugs emerged from the Broadways and six emerged from the Stretch, all of them scrambling for cover behind their vehicles and statues lining the driveway as Iceman fired another barrage, his rounds tearing through the front windshield of the Stretch and flattening its two front tires. It became personal for the smuggler when they kidnapped his own flesh and blood and he desperately wanted to kill as many of them as possible for committing that grievous sin.

Noting his close proximity to one of the Broadways, he pulled out one of his grenades and rolled it beneath the lowrider, bolting for cover behind another statue as another explosion rang out and the car burst into flames, its burning husk overturning onto the Stretch. The frightened High Ryderz rushed out from what was supposed to be their protective barrier, right into the waiting bullets of his companions.

Artie smiled as his shells tore through the chests of the attacking High Ryderz, both of them lurching violently in their last few moments of life. A second later, the car exploded and incinerated their remains.

A loud rattle from his left jarred the errand boy from his thoughts and he turned to see Sunny returning fire with some of the gangbangers, handling the rifle's recoil surprisingly well. It made him wonder if she had experienced battle firsthand in the past.

One of the thugs she fired at was quickly dropped by a barrage of hot metal rounds tearing through his stomach and another was forced to drop his shotgun after taking a bullet to the shoulder, only to be sent staggering pitifully for cover and meeting his end via a round through the cranium compliments of Artie.

"You High Ryderz are fucking wimps! I can't believe there are people out there afraid of you," Iceman taunted as he managed to drop a goon trying to run away and watched as another attempted to flee, only to be taken down by the combined effort of Artie and Sunny. That had been the last of the reinforcements and the fighters lowered their weapons, staring passively at the burning vehicles and shot up corpses bleeding out.

"C'mon, let's get the hell outta here," the weapons dealer said facing his newly-liberated cousin.

"Wait," Artie said raising his hand and then approaching a freshly-deceased High Ryder. Kneeling down he patted the man's body, finding two unused clips for his Glock, as well as $250 in cash. "Better see what else we can find."

In the end they managed to forage a hefty sum of ammunition, as well as all the money they emptied from the corpse's pockets. Searching through the trunk of the remaining Broadway, Iceman found a duffel bag carrying twelve thousand dollars, which they would divide amongst themselves. Four thousand the dealer would keep for himself and Kenna, four thousand would go to Dixie and the last third would go to Artie himself, two thousand of it he would give to Gino and use it to help out back at the struggling Little Black Book.

"Now we can roll out," Artie said motioning for the two women to follow him and Iceman back to the latter's waiting Patriot.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a thankfully uneventful ride back to The Little Black Book and one which left Artie leaping out of the Patriot as soon as it came to a halt.

"You going to be alright?" he asked Iceman while reaching in to grab his gear.

"We'll be alright don't worry," the weapons dealer replied adjusting his shades, "That was some badass shooting back there my friend. As far as I'm concerned you've proven yourself plenty. You're an alright guy Artie, we should hang out sometime," he said producing a business card and handing it to his newfound friend.

"Anytime man," Artie said as Kenna climbed out of the backseat and threw her arms around him.

"Thank you so much…I honestly don't know how I could ever thank you for what you did. If it wasn't for you…that bastard probably would have killed me," she tearfully exclaimed.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore. He'll never come back to haunt you," Artie replied releasing her from his grasp and then turned to be embraced by Sunny.

"I owe you a big thanks too, sugar," she said giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Anytime," he nodded to the blonde-haired woman and turned to the reunited cousins, "Thanks, I guess I'll be seeing you guys around soon," and he watched as they drove off into the distance.

_"God I need a fucking drink after that mess," _he told himself as he entered the bar.

Author's Note: For once we get to see a big badass Mafioso playing the knight in shining armor, who says Artie can't be good with the ladies in his own little way?

The Rainbow Party disco Artie and Iceman pass is inspired by a sexual term, using text I've borrowed from Wikipedia, this is the direct definition:

"_A __**rainbow party**__ is a supposed group sex event featured in an urban legend spread since the early 2000s. A variant of other sex party urban myths, the stories claim that at these events, allegedly increasingly popular among adolescents, females wearing various shades of lipstick take turns fellating males in sequence, leaving multiple colors (a "rainbow") on their penises."_

You'd be surprised at some of the stuff you find there, outside of the Urban Dictionary of course. *Evil wink*

The manner in which Artie kills the first guy with his baseball bat in this chapter is inspired by the baseball bat's "Gruesome" execution in "Manhunt," had to throw out a reference there (a game that truly redefines 'spreading the sickness').

Well that's it for this installment so tune in for the next and make sure to read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	7. Dancing with Disaster

Chapter 7: Dancing With Disaster

It had been a little over six hours since Artie helped Iceman carry out the dramatic rescue of his cousin and only now he was coming to after what he initially thought would have been an hour long nap.

_"What am I thinking? How the fuck could that have been an hour long nap after what I went through?" _he thought stretching out his arms, only to grunt in pain as he felt the lingering bruises caused by the bullets that had stricken his Kevlar vest, which now lay on the chair near his folding bed.

Slowly pulling himself to the edge of the bed he grabbed the remote control and turned the TV on, only to be met by the scene of officers standing outside of the same estate he and Iceman tore apart just hours earlier.

_"Tom, I am standing outside of the crime scene where just hours earlier a violent gun battle was waged during what was supposed to be a regular house party. At this time there is an indeterminate amount of casualties with more bodies turning up as police continue their investigation. Listed among the dead is the estate's owner, Dale Cottonfield IV, a devoted crusader noted for his efforts to improve the lives of homeless women within our fair city," _Cora Ricardo reported, nearly causing the hired gun to break down in a fit of laughter.

"Oh that motherfucker was a 'devoted crusader' alright, if you consider kidnapping women off the streets and making them turn tricks in a truck stop bathroom a just cause worth fighting for," Artie scoffed as police were shown loading covered bodies into the back of a Romero hearse.

_"The founder of Gamble Entertainment, Creighton Gamble, a close personal friend of Mr. Cottonfield's, earlier released a statement via his Bleeter account expressing his sadness over the loss of one of his oldest friends and most trusted business associates. In an effort to carry on his friend's legacy, he has announced his intention to start the 'Dale Cottonfield IV Memorial Scholarship' with the intention of assisting young women who plan to enter the entertainment field upon graduation from high school. Mr. Cottonfield is survived by three children, five ex-wives, and his butler Pedro Vasquez, who was later found out to be an undocumented illegal from El Salvador and was deported immediately."_

Artie's cell phone began ringing and he switched the TV off, looking down to the Whiz's ID screen to see that it was Donnie.

Rolling his eyes at the thought of his other cousin's seemingly endless perversion he let out a heavy sigh before answer, "Hello?"

_"Hey, hey Artie what's up? It's your favorite cousin Donnie! How ya' doin' this evening my good man?" _Donnie Cappelli called out from the other end, the sounds of heavy laughter and glasses clinking in the background.

"Well, seeing as how I nearly got myself killed earlier in the day trying to save a bunch of hookers from some low rent pimp…I'd say I'm doing just fine Cuz," Artie replied collapsing back onto the bed.

_"That a boy Artie! You have no idea how much poo nanny being the 'knight in shining armor' will get cha'?" _the elder Cappelli boomed, causing the errand boy to flinch at the loud hooting in his ear.

"Gee, I had no idea…" Artie groaned, "…so what can I do for you?"

_"Gino told me about what happened earlier, how you saved all those ladies and in the process scored some extra bucks for his shithole. He was telling me how you seemed pretty tensed up after the whole ordeal…"_

"Well duh, I almost got killed you jackass!" Artie shouted back.

_"…and so I figured I'd give ya' a call and see if I could help you maybe 'unwind' a little," _Donnie continued, ignoring his cousin's outburst, _"I was wondering, since you and I are both 'gentlemen,' how's about you and I stop by a gentlemen's club? Think about it Cuz, all that bouncing naked flesh being shoved into your face…you'll be feeling good as new by the time the night's over!"_

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Donnie! Are there any times at all in your life when you're not thinking about the female anatomy?" Artie grunted in disgust.

_"Aw what's the matter? You goin' faggot on me Cuz? Gimme a reason I shouldn't be getting you a one way plane ticket to San Fierro as we speak?" _Donnie retorted before continuing, _"Look there's this place not far from where I live, very high class, not like those 'hole in the wall' crack houses over on Lincoln. It's called Hell's Belles and unlike those places you probably visited back in Liberty, the women here actually go fully nude!" _he shouted, his voice rising at least three octaves, enough to warrant a few horny hoots in the background.

"Well that's quite a catch I have to admit," Artie said calming down a little, remembering how everything in Liberty City was so 'PG-13' compared to other places he visited in the past, most in part thanks to a dumbass mayor who was so much into 'family values' and all that other wholesome 1950's crap.

_"You got it," _Donnie replied, the ruckus dying down in the background, suggesting he may have entered a bathroom or some other vacant room, _"It can be my treat, a chance for you to get out and mingle with some new people, also some quality family time between two cousins if you will, killing two birds with one stone."_

_ "Oh yeah, I remember the last time we spent some 'quality family time' together. You spent most of your time trying to fuck everything that moved and ignoring your so-called 'beloved cousin,'" _Artie thought to himself, remaining silent to Donnie's proposal.

_"I'm just finishing up with a poker game right now. Come pick me up over at Brokeback Billy's Genuine Leather Goods Emporium over in Blue Hook, it's between Gazangas and the Vinyl Countdown. Make it fast!" _Donnie demanded.

Sighing in defeat, Artie gave an unenthusiastic reply, "Alright Cuz, I'll be over in an hour."

_"That's the spirit Artie! Trust me, when you've had some nice large titties shoved in your face your frown will be turned upside down in an instant and the soldier will be standing at attention…okay maybe I shouldn't have said that last part…but what the fuck man? Tonight's gonna be all about having some fun! I'll see ya' in an hour then!" _Donnie shouted back and the line went dead.

Letting out another sigh Artie allowed his cell phone to fall onto the bed next to him, "Why the fuck do I allow this stuff to happen to me?"

He knew he had to soldier forth, knowing Donnie would never let him hear the end of it if he didn't follow through with his promise.

Artie made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower and then went over to his wardrobe, pulling out a nice black button up short-sleeved shirt, stonewashed blue jeans, some boxers and a pair of socks. Before he could start getting dressed he looked over and saw the bulletproof vest resting on the chair and a knot suddenly formed in his stomach, something he always got when he had a feeling something bad was going to happen.

_"But why?" _he asked himself, pushed towards it by an invisible hand. Not one to ignore his instincts he picked up the vest and strapped it on before pulling his shirt over it and then grabbing his watchband and gold cross chain. The Glock he purchased earlier rested on a nearby coffee table and he scooped it up along with a shoulder holster and two clips he pocketed from a dead High Ryder after the massacre.

"Time to 'have some fun' as Donnie puts it," Artie muttered stepping out the back door and looking around to make sure that old disease-ridden hooker was nowhere in sight before making his way down to the tavern's back lot and reaching his Sentinel.

Artie climbed inside and switched the car on, making sure he had enough gas before twiddling with the radio and finding the classic rock-oriented Rock of Rushmore 89.5, which was playing "Run to the Hills" by Iron Maiden.

The trip to Blue Hook was again largely uneventful, much to Artie's relief as he entered a district dominated by halfway decent looking stores. He kept driving until he spotted the Gazangas restaurant Donnie had mentioned, which stood out like a sore thumb with its bright red rooftop and a sign which had a ridiculously large-chested woman holding two oversized mugs of beer.

"This must be it," Artie muttered turning down his radio as he came across a small building that resembled an Old Western saloon, sandwiched between the aforementioned restaurant and the Vinyl Countdown, which also stood out like an eyesore thanks to its front entrance being shaped like one very large vinyl record.

"Anytime now," the errand boy muttered to himself, only to be started by a loud banging on the driver's side door that left him scrambling for his piece.

"Chill out Cuz, it's me!" the all-too-familiar voice called out.

Donnie Cappelli stood before him clad in a pair of black jeans and a navy blue sport coat, his ever-present smirk becoming a toothy grin as he held up a bag from the Rusty Brown's Ring Donuts across the street.

"How ya' doin'? Glad to see you could make it," he called out in his typical boastful tone as he moved around the front of the burgundy Sentinel, "Yeah, I know I told you a little white lie, but I got the munchies," he added while climbing into the front passenger's seat and offering his cousin a chocolate donut, "Want one?"

"Sure thanks," Artie replied reaching out for the donut until he was distracted by a bright green Lobo with black and yellow stripes passing him by. Inside he was able to make out two dreadlocked dark-skinned men staring at him intently.

"Shit," the Italian-American muttered under his breath, thinking they were sizing him up for a drive-by and reached inside his coat for the Glock, but by the time he could even grip its handle, the luxury car had already passed without incident.

"Hey yo' Artie, you alright?" Donnie called out from next to him, "I'm gonna end up eating this for you if you don't fucking say something!"

Breathing deeply Artie let his hand move back towards the donut, "Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"Okay, just checking. Let's get goin' and see some fuckin' titties man!" Donnie boomed with the vigor of a ten year old ready for a snowball fight upon the first major snowfall of the season.

"You're the boss," Artie chuckled, doing what he could to disguise the lingering nervousness in his tone following that unusual sighting. Finishing up the donut he shifted the car into drive and made his way into traffic.

"So how are things going otherwise?" Donnie asked as they pulled up to an intersection, "Any luck finding a job?"

"None so far," Artie replied, "the recent 'developments' have sort of pushed that to the backburner for the time being. I honestly don't think I should be establishing any roots around anyway since the Feds can't keep us under lockdown forever."

"Ha! That's not gonna be happening for quite a while," Donnie scoffed back, "Besides, once you've been around this place for a while it'll grow on you. You honestly think I planned on forever living with Gino in that shithole of his? No! I didn't choose this place, this place chose me!"

"Really? Do tell," Artie replied in mock interest.

"Yeah, it just called out to me like that voice all those crackheads hear. One day, I was just sitting around pounding down a few brewskies and letting some hot Hawaiian chick grind on my crotch when it suddenly came to me…'Donatello Cappelli, I have chosen you!'" Donnie continued, changing his voice into some booming, god-like tone for emphasis.

"So you're telling me once I've have some scantily-clad women simulating sex acts with me I'm going to suddenly be seeking out local real estate, eh?" Artie asked as he came to a halt at another red light.

"Naked Cuz, naked women! You really think this city allows that PG-13 bullshit Liberty does? Fuck no!" Donnie shouted back.

"Whatever you say, my beloved Cousin Donnie," Artie sardonically replied.

"Damn right, and who would've thought a boring business trip would lead to such a life changing experience?" Donnie replied as "Nothin' but a Good Time" by Poison came on the radio, "Fuck this hair metal shit," he said flipping the station over to Funked Up 105.3, which was playing "Brick House" By the Commodores.

"You told me you came here because you met some 'hot bitch' on Craplist for a 'no strings attached' encounter, who turned out to be some 14-year old girl who stole all your money and left you high and dry, and then some bums stole your car and had a sex orgy in it, which led to you taking a Molotov to it because you couldn't bear the thought of ever going near it again," Artie replied as some jerkoff on a Hexen sped past him and cut off a Landstalker in the process.

"Heh, fuck you jackass," Donnie shot back before adopting a business-like tone, "Are you sure you don't want my help finding anything around here? Like I've said, I have plenty of contacts around here if you ever need anything."

"I think I'll be alright…really," Artie replied as they made their way onto the ramp leading to Jefferson Vale.

"Just saying," Donnie spoke, "although I've heard Freeman Cab Company is always looking for new drivers, and there's also Rockstar Autos over in Stilsen. I'm pretty tight with the guy there…although not in the 'tighter than a virgin's pussy' sense."

"I get it! I get it!" Artie snapped back as they finally reached Jefferson Vale and soon happened across a brick building outlined by neon lights with an image of a scantily-clad woman with devil horns on the side, indicating they were now approaching Hell's Belles.

"At last we have arrived!" Donnie triumphantly proclaimed as Artie pulled into the parking lot and jumped out before he could even park the car. "C'mon, let's get inside while the beer is still cold and the ladies are still hot!"

Artie said nothing as he literally had to chase after his cousin, much to the indifference of the nearby bouncer, who probably figured they weren't worth stopping as long as they had no visible weapons on them.

Once inside, the younger Cappelli cousin was forced to bring his forearm up to shield his eyes from all the bright lights.

The club walls were painted with fake flames, all of which were outlined by bright red, orange and yellow neon lights to give off the effect of the inhabitants passing through Hell itself, albeit without the torture and bloodshed.

To his immediate right was a bar filled to the max with patrons who were either passed out or chattering loudly about all sorts of randomness in their drunken stupors, including a college-aged student who was getting touchy feely with one of the dancers and had to be wrestled to the floor by a bouncer. On the lower level there were three different stages where fully nude strippers swung around on the available poles, teasing the horned up patrons who hooted and hollered wildly, tossing what perhaps had been their entire paycheck's worth of money onto the stage.

Scantily-clad women prowled the floor in search of their next customer, relying more so upon the men to come to them, rather than them having to stop everything that moved, like it had been back in Liberty.

_"Hmm, maybe this place isn't so bad after all," _Artie smirked to himself as he finally spotted Donnie down on the lower level, casually walking up to one of the waitresses and taking the cocktail off her tray like he owned the place before stopping to make small talk with the young woman.

"Okay Donnie, we're here so now what?" the younger Cappelli cousin had to shout as Winger's "Seventeen" blasted over the sound system, while observing the 'scenery' around him.

Donnie temporarily shifted his attention away from the waitress and looked at his cousin flabbergasted, "What the fuck do you mean 'now what?' We're in a fucking strip club man! Let the ladies here show you a good time!"

The elder Cappelli reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, "Come to think of it, I have some 'special people' here whom I wish to see, so until then why don't you kick back and have a good time? Not like you need to cling to me like a Chihuahua in heat while you're here."

He then stopped a woman walking past them, a raven-haired beauty with a large chest, nice ass and curves in all the right places, who was clad in nothing but an undersized bikini top and G-string, "Excuse me ma'am, my cousin here is new to the area. Why don't you show him a good time?" he asked slipping the wad of cash down her G-string.

The woman giggled seductively at the offer, "With pleasure," she cooed before looking Artie up and down, "Wow there sweetie, looks like I'm gonna have to go all out tonight," she said taking the younger cousin by the hand.

"Have fun Cuz!" Donnie called out over the booming music before disappearing from sight.

The dancer led Artie up a short flight of stairs into a back hallway, where there were several V.I.P. rooms lining both sides, all of which were occupied by men (and one woman) receiving simulated sexual acts from the numerous beautiful dancers that had been working that night, including one lucky bastard who had two women on him at once.

"In here baby," the dancer said leading him into the last room on the left.

"Whatever you say," Artie winked back, looking over his shoulder to see two muscular bouncers staring sinisterly towards him, both with their tree trunk-like arms crossed over their barrel chests.

A comfy loveseat awaited the young man and he took a seat, stretching out his limbs as the dancer seductively removed her clothing and stood before him in all her nude glory, waiting for the next song to start.

"Now we have some fun," she giggled as "The Next Episode" by Dr. Dre featuring Snoop Dogg started pumping in over the club's loudspeakers.

"Lady, I don't know if your mother knows about you doing this, but I'm sure she'll forgive me if I tell her I'm helping put you through college," Artie chuckled as the nameless dancer began grinding her curvaceous ass against his crotch.

As it turned out, Donnie had given the woman enough cash for three dances worth of entertainment and Artie was left winded after some pretty intense dances from an overly aroused dancer.

"Oh man, you've gotten me all nice and sweaty…," the dancer gasped pulling her G-string back on and reaching for her bikini top, "…y'know, if I wasn't on the clock I'd let you come back to my place sweetie…only this time you'll be allowed to touch," she said puckering her lips at him.

"I'd definitely hold you to that," Artie said reclining in the loveseat, "I might have to start coming around here more often."

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"What the hell was that?" the dancer shrieked as a trio of gunshots rang out and she quickly scampered out the rear exit just a few steps away from the V.I.P. room.

"What now?" Artie grumbled stepping into the narrow hallway to see the inhabitants from the other rooms piling out and literally tripping over one another as they fought to find some form of escape from the ensuing carnage.

None of that mattered to him right now as he pulled out the Glock, the only thing on his mind finding his cousin Donnie and getting the hell out of there.

Making his way back into the main room the errand boy felt his blood freeze in his veins upon seeing what the commotion was all about.

His very own cousin Donnie was pinned down behind an overturned table, being fired upon by every available security guard while patrons and dancers alike scattered like a herd of wildebeests, either scurrying for cover or trying to escape the club, one unfortunate soul finding himself caught in the crossfire and collapsing atop one of the dancers, who shrieked throughout the entire ordeal as the bullets flew above her.

In his cousin's hands was a Beretta M9 with a silencer attached, popping up to return fire when given the chance.

_"Goddamn it Donnie, what the hell have you done now?" _Artie asked himself taking aim upon the nearest guard and dropping him with a single shot to the throat, a geyser of blood spraying from the fresh wound as he collapsed to the floor and bled to death.

The other guards noticed their colleague fall and switched their attention to Artie, firing multiple barrages upon him and forcing him into cover behind a pillar, where he collided with the club D.J. and sent him falling to the floor with his hands over his head.

Donnie Cappelli noticed the guards had lost interest in him and took cover behind one of the stages to unscrew his pistol's silencer and reload the emptied gun.

One of the guards stood directly across from him on an elevated platform firing upon his cousin and another ran over to join the man, causing his blood to boil.

"Not going to be killing any cousin of mine you 'roid freaks!" Donnie shouted popping out from behind his cover and firing a barrage of bullets toward the two men, striking both repeatedly before his clip ran dry.

Artie saw his cousin drop both men and watched as more guards were returning their attention to him. Sticking his arm around the pillar he fired blindly towards the attackers and sent one man collapsing to the ground with a bullet in his side and another to the kneecap before Donnie finished him off.

_"Damn it, I've gotta stop fucking around," _Artie told himself as he fired a few more rounds towards his attackers and the leapt to the lower level, rolling for cover behind where Donnie hid.

"Donnie, will you please tell me exactly what the fuck is going on here?" Artie had to shout over the popping of Uzi machine pistols.

"What the fuck does it look like, genius? We're being fucking shot at!" Donnie shouted back before firing blindly.

"I meant why are they fucking shooting at us?" Artie shouted back as he reached over to loot the gun off a dead guard along with a spare magazine.

The elder Cappelli did not reply immediately and again blindly fired at some more attacking guards, "I'll tell you later Cuz, for now let's just focus on getting the fuck outta here!"

The two Cappellis both began firing wildly towards the surviving guards and made a cooperative mad dash towards the front entrance, two more piling out of the security office only to be cut down by Artie's dual handgun assault.

"Alright, we're almost outta here," Donnie called out, only to bump into a dancer who had not yet escaped and sent her crashing to the floor.

"Oh my goodness ma'am, I'm so terribly sorry about that," he spoke while helping the frightened redhead back to her feet, "Say…what are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Donnie!" Artie screamed at his cousin as the doorman came charging in with a pump-action shotgun and prepared to fire, only to be struck by repeated rounds from the younger man and sent falling backwards, discharging his shotgun into the ceiling.

The two cousins bolted through the parking lot towards Artie's Sentinel and piled inside, the owner wasting no time in starting the car up.

"Time to get the hell outta-" Artie spoke, just in time to see two black PMP 600 luxury cars pulling into the lot, each carrying four heavily-armed goons. "Oh fucking shit!"

Donnie turned to look out the rear window, only to duck a second later as automatic rounds ripped through the back window and tore apart the seat's headrests, forcing both cousins to duck.

"What the fuck do we do now? Those bastards have us pinned down!" the elder Cappelli shouted over the repeated pings of bullets striking the Sentinel's body.

"Well seeing as how I just had to save your ass, I'm not giving up just yet!" Artie called back before shifting the car into reverse and stomping on the gas pedal.

The ear-piercing screech of tires upon the tarmac filled the air and threatened to deafen both men as Artie sped backwards and plowed through the two cars, knocking both backwards in opposite directions and crushing one of the thugs in the process.

"Quick, get me back to my place!" Donnie ordered as he rolled down his window to fire at the scattering goons.

"We can't, you're not far from here. They'll follow us and surely shoot us dead right on your front lawn! We've gotta lose 'em!" Artie shouted back as he peeled down the street and struck the front end of a Voodoo, loosening the Sentinel's hood and sending it flying back before it finally snapped off its hinges and went flying off.

"Well get us somewhere then, there can't be a Pay n' Spray too far from here can there?" Donnie asked while fumbling to reload his gun.

"You're the genius who said Rushmore City chose you to live here, you tell me!" Artie retorted.

He looked in his driver's side mirror to see the two PMP 600's chasing after him, both of their front ends smashed up, yet undeterred in their hunt. It was the last thing he saw before his rearview mirror was shot out before him.

"Damn it! I just got this car repainted," he grumbled to himself.

The high speeds made it too dangerous for him to trying firing back at his pursuers and aside from Donnie having a gun; he didn't have many other options aside from outrunning them.

Artie focused on the street ahead, where many of the other motorists had taken notice of the pursuit and were either swerving to avoid the incident or too frozen in shock to move, creating a maze he would have to weave his way through.

Jerking his wheel to the left he found himself cutting off a Peyote just as he spotted a taxi coming at him from the opposite direction. Upon getting back in the right lane, he noticed part of the road had been torn up and had a strategically placed ramp in front of it.

"Get ready Cuz, we're going airborne!" Artie shouted gunning the engine and raced full speed up the ramp.

"Oh shit, Artie what the fuck are you doing?" Donnie hollered.

Artie ignored his cousin's outburst and struck the ramp with deadly precision, sending the shot up car flying through the air, the world seemingly drifting into slow motion around them.

Donnie's fear was suddenly replaced by a surge of adrenaline and he let out a loud "Yee haw!" as the car fell back to Earth, striking the ground with a violent shudder and sending it smashing into the back of a parked minivan as Artie was unable to hit the brakes.

"Why should I have screamed at that? That was a fucking rush!" Donnie shouted in near frenzied laughter.

Artie ignored his cousin and looked into the rearview mirror in front of him, watching as the first PMP 600 flew through the air only to land at an awkward angle and go flipping through the air repeatedly like a piece of clothing in a washing machine before it collided with a parked street sweeper and came to a halt.

The second car however had made it and continued its pursuit of the two men.

"Looks like desperate times call for desperate measures," Donnie said and the younger Cappelli watched in wide-eyed amazement as his cousin reached into his sport coat and produced an M67 fragmentation grenade.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" Artie demanded, swerving the car just in time to avoid a man on a PCJ-600 crotch rocket.

"From a friend alright, now just shut the fuck up and get me into a good position!" Donnie ordered preparing to pull the pin.

Getting himself at a safe distance Artie jerked the car back and forth to avoid his car taking any additional hits, watching closely as his cousin pulled the pin and tossed the explosive into the road.

The grenade rolled along the concrete and the driver of the second car spotted it and attempted to swerve out of the way, but it was too late and the following explosion ripped apart much of the narrow street, sending the second car flipping into the air and landing atop a parked sedan. Another chain reaction of explosions followed, but the cousins had been long out of the radius by then.

"Man, that was fucking close…don't you agree Cuz?" Donnie asked as Artie sped down the road, wanting to get as far away from the scene as he witnessed an ambulance racing by, knowing the police and fire department wouldn't be too far behind.

"Uh Cuz…I asked you if you agreed whether or not that was fucking close?" the elder Cappelli repeated.

Once they were far enough away, Artie abruptly turned the shot up Sentinel into a side alley and shifted the car into park.

"You owe me one serious fucking explanation," Artie growled, furrowing his brow towards his elder cousin, "now start talking. Tell me what the fuck that was all about back there."

Donnie remained silent as he knew it would be a struggle to properly explain things to his angry cousin.

"Tell me what was going on back there," Artie again demanded.

"Cuz, it would be far too much for you to comprehend and I don't want you being dragged into the matter," Donnie answered.

Having enough of being dodged, Artie pulled out his Glock and shoved it into his cousin's direction, who only gasped in disbelief.

"Artie, you wouldn't dare-"

"Wouldn't I?" Artie snapped, jabbing the gun further into his cousin's face, "You sound quite certain of yourself, don't you? Well you dragged me into a situation where you knowingly almost got me killed and if you ask me this isn't much different compared to that. Now I've had enough of people lying to me and am ready for this bullshit to come to an end. Now Donnie, tell me…what the fuck happened back there that had a bunch of people wanting to kill us? Family or not, tell me right now or I will pull this trigger."

"Fine," Donnie grunted in defeat, raising his hands protectively in front of him before collapsing against his shot up seat and rubbing his forehead thoroughly before trying to properly convey the recent events to his cousin.

"The owner of the club was causing trouble for some 'friends' of mine and they wanted me to deal with him," Donnie explained looking down to his empty Beretta.

"So you went and blasted the guy for them?" Artie asked the anger still evident in his tone.

Donnie nodded in response.

"I wanted it to be a quick, clean kill, but one of the guy's ladies walks in bitching about a recent pay cut and found me having just painted the wall with his brains. Next thing you know, push comes to shove and we're fighting for our lives against a bunch of pissed off goons."

Artie shook his head in disbelief, "I can't believe you and quite frankly, I doubt I wanna know who these 'friends' of yours are that you would kill for. If some S.T.D. doesn't come along and kill you, no doubt getting your ass into another one of these jams will."

"What can I say? Being Donatello Cappelli ain't easy," the elder cousin replied with a shrug of his shoulders, sounding almost nonchalant after what they had just been through together, leaving Artie wanting to punch his own family member out of frustration right then and there.

"Maybe it could've been easier had you followed through with your dreams of being a priest that you used to have when you were little, which of course went out the window once you hit puberty, that or if you would've stayed in law school and become a lawyer like Grandpa always wanted you to be," Artie continued.

"Whatever just take me home please," Donnie sighed in defeat.

"Gladly," Artie spoke pulling out of the alley and making his way for the residential area, a ride in silence that wasn't too long and within minutes he was pulling his shot up ride into the driveway of his cousin's condo.

"Thanks for the ride," Donnie said reaching into his pocket and placing three hundred dollars on the dashboard, "There, think of that as compensation for your recent debacle, put it towards fixing this baby up."

"Sure thing," Artie replied, watching wordlessly as his cousin disappeared inside and then he exhaled loudly, "Why me?"

After everything that had transpired today all he wanted to do now was get his car fixed, get home and go to bed.

_"And disown my two-faced horndog of a cousin," _he mentally added to the list.

"Once that blockade is lifted I'm getting the fuck outta Rushmore City and never coming back," he whispered to himself switching on Radio GX, which played "Rooftops" by Lostprophets, as he made his way for the nearest Pay n' Spray.

Author's Note: If I haven't explained this already, Gazangas is meant to be a parody of Hooters. The Vinyl Countdown is based on an actual record store in the GTA games, its name being a play on Europe's "The Final Countdown," a song I actually like. Hell's Belles of course is inspired by the AC/DC song.

And now on to answer a few questions or respond to a few comments made:

**Afro Spirit – **That was a funny fucking joke you made about the 'rainbow party' reference. LOL! Even though he doesn't do much in the "My Cousin Donnie" chapter, here you will actually get to see Donnie hold his own, so yeah he's more like Lance Vance in that capacity, whereas Gino is a sniveling coward who has to have people stand up for him. As for Artie getting hitched with somebody, I don't know for sure just yet, but like I've been saying all along the fate of some original characters is still very much up in the air. There will be Love-Meet references of course in future chapters, so just stay tuned until then.

**Native Gunz – **I don't know if you would really have people leaking brains like that right away after walloping them with a baseball bat, but again that scene from the last chapter was inspired by the 'gruesome' bat execution from "Manhunt" and I wanted to include some form of reference to that game in the final product. As for the guns, you have Wikipedia to thank for that (now that they're back up after the whole SOPA ordeal). The High Ryderz are largely inspired by the Vice Kings from "Saints Row 1" in the sense of them being the high rolling gangsters who have their hands in several semi-legitimate business ventures in addition to their gangbanging, as it was with the Kings in that game. I hear you on the part with loving Latin women too and I credit J. Lo with getting me with developing the "Latina Fever" and even if I've moved on from her I did eventually discover a lot of other hot Latinas in addition to her, Eva Mendes being one of them of course, plus Eva Longoria, so yeah I gotta hear you on the "take 'em to my casa so we can do the loco thing." Sunny is a blonde southern chick though.

In addition to comments you made on Chapter 5, I believe they say 50 Cent is a Republican and he's also a rapper, plus I think Ice T's character on "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit" is supposed to be a Republican too, but then again that's a fictional character I'm referring to right there. That reference was also inspired by something I saw years ago on a Myspace message board where this guy named Timmy is going on trying to talk in a real ghetto-sounding dialect about how "George W. Bush is the greatest and this and that" and the way he was dressed in his display pic reminded me of that one South Park episode where Jimmy and Timmy start calling themselves "The Crips," being a reference more so to the fact that they are actually crippled people rather than gangbangers. So yeah, I had him in mind when I typed that out and how Iceman would have been killing two birds with one stone in regards to two groups of people whom I personally don't like, wiggers and hardcore conservative Republicans. (To anybody who reads this, yes I AM a liberal Democrat and if you don't like it, then please go fuck yourself.)

There probably will be some references to GTA4 characters in future chapters, so again that's another case of staying tuned for further updates.

Well that's it for now so until then please read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	8. All Clucked Up

Chapter 8: All Clucked Up

It had been three days since the shooting at the Hell's Belles gentlemen's club over in Lakeview.

According to the news broadcast, the place had been shut down until further notice as authorities conducted a full scale investigation into the matter.

As for Artie Cappelli, he had spent the past few days blissfully hidden away from any serious forms of chaos, having gone out drinking at some bar in New Leningrad called Belchov's along with Iceman, where they had also enjoyed a round of darts which the errand boy lost, and then the next night he had gone to a concert with Zeke at some former warehouse venue in Stilsen called The 7th Circle, from which his ears were still ringing.

Yesterday had been largely uneventful and was spent mostly indoors due to rainy weather, the hitman spending most of his day playing "Pogo the Monkey 5: The Search for Phalloc" on his newly-acquired GBOX 720.

After that one day of nothingness inside a roach-filled apartment Artie had already begun to develop a heavy case of 'cabin fever' and knew he had to get out and do something as soon as he woke up. Carrying out his usual morning/early afternoon routine of grooming himself, he pulled on a pair of urban camouflage pants, a Rushmore City Statesmen t-shirt he had gotten from the ProLaps in Bellport and his olive drab combat jacket from the Binco in Blue Hook, along with a pair of red and white Hi-Top Kicks from the latter. As he had learned from his recent experiences, he also packed his Glock and some extra clips before making his way downstairs.

Walking into The Little Black Book, Artie found the place completely devoid of any paying customers and at the back of the bar Zeke was in the middle of playing the Space Conquerors pinball game, taking advantage of the time he had to himself.

"C'mon goddamn it!" the bartender grunted loudly, jerking his body back and forth and to the sides as he hammered down on the flapper controls, doing whatever he could to keep his last ball in play. "Ugh…fuck no!" he shouted rocking the machine violently out of desperation until he heard a loud electronic buzzing noise indicating the ball had fallen out of play. "Goddamned stupid machine," he said about to kick the machine as hard as he could, until he turned around to see Artie casually reclining against the counter.

"Oh…hey Artie! How are you doing today?" he sheepishly blurted out as he skittered behind the counter, "Can I get you anything today?"

"Yeah, you can stop neglecting your duties and do your fucking job," Artie chuckled taking a seat.

"Yeah…sure thing," Zeke replied grabbing a glass and pouring Artie's favorite beer into it, "Please don't tell Gino. I'm not in the mood for losing another job."

"Don't worry, I won't. Scout's honor," Artie responded delivering a two-fingered salute before accepting the glass and taking a long swig. "Hopefully you guys will soon be able to get enough attention to where you'll have more customers and won't have to stand around playing pinball all day long."

"That and enough money to keep those Redcoats and Sneed off our asses, but I don't that'll be happening anytime soon," Zeke sighed pulling out some cleaning solution and beginning to scrub down the counter.

"It will, don't worry. If my fat, lying slob of a cousin can't get the job done, then I'm sure you have the 'connections' that can help turn this place around," Artie continued before taking another swig.

"Yeah," Zeke sheepishly nodded, "So, take it you're still feeling the after effects of that Vile Crud show, huh?"

"Yes I am, my ears still haven't forgiven me just yet," Artie grunted, rubbing his ears for emphasis, "I told you I liked rock music, but not that extreme…ugh!"

"Pussy," Zeke taunted before leaning towards him, "It's only a matter of time before Vile Crud is rising up from the depths of Hell and destroying the entire mainstream…especially those Blue Brother fags, or as I call them the 'Blue Ballers.' God I hate those fucking cocksuckers."

"Can't disagree with you there," Artie replied tapping fists with his friend as a loud guitar solo filled the air and Zeke reached into his pocket, "One moment please!" he said pulling out his Whiz Wireless.

Leaving the bartender to engage in his conversation, Artie saw the TV's remote nearby and switched on the TV set, flipping through the channels until he came across the SAG network, which was in the middle of broadcasting a beach volleyball game between two sets of women in very skimpy bikinis.

"Now this is quality entertainment," he remarked aloud as he watched the women's large breasts and buns jiggling as they leapt through the air, yet somehow found the time to train his ears to hear bits and pieces of Zeke's conversation with his friend.

"…yeah he's here right now, that guy I told you about. He's my boss' cousin and he knows how to get things done," Zeke explained, unaware Artie was listening in.

_"Is he trying to get me another job or something?" _Artie wondered as he was beginning to slowly lose interest in the game and listened more to what Zeke had to say. At one point the bartender turned around, forcing the Italian-American to abruptly revert his gaze back to the TV set.

"…alright, I'll see how things go. I'll talk to you later man," Zeke said switching his phone off and shoving it back into his pocket.

"Important business?" Artie asked.

Before Zeke could answer, the crowd on the TV went wild as one of the volleyball players' bikini top came flying off, temporarily distracting both men.

"Goddamn that's amazing," the bartender muttered, completely losing track of what he was about to say, until the current image was replaced by that of an advertisement from Sprunk Soda saying they would resume the broadcast once the 'technical difficulties' had been handled.

Snapping back to reality Artie resumed their conversation, "Okay, now what were you going to say?"

"Uh…what?" Zeke asked before regaining his train of thought, "Oh yeah…I remember now! That was a friend of mine, someone who might be able to help us out."

"Really? Are you talking about this 'ambitious little campaign' of yours you're talking about starting up?" Artie asked, wondering if he should sit here and continue listening to the man.

"It might seem 'little and ambitious' to you, but it will grow into something more if I can get enough help to get it off the ground and this guy I was telling you about might be able to help," Zeke explained pulling up a stool of his own.

"This guy's name is Randy Spitz and he's one of my 'war buddies.' He's a total genius who knows a thing or two about electronics. Give him a paper clip and he'll use it to fix an entire supercomputer!"

"And he's stuck here in Rushmore City rather than working at some top secret government research facility out in the middle of nowhere?" Artie scoffed, unable to believe such a grandiose tale.

"Believe it. He's too poor to get out of this place and get himself into a good college. He barely makes ends meet for a sandwich working at the Cluckin' Bell over in Jansport," Zeke explained.

"Man, that is a sad existence," Artie said shaking his head.

"Yeah, anyways I've told him about you and he wants to meet you. He's at work right now and he says he'll give you a free meal," Zeke said standing up and resuming his duty of wiping down the counter.

"I don't know about the 'free meal' part, but I'll see what I can find out," Artie said rising from his seat.

"Yeah, just make sure he gets home in one piece. The dude's borrowing my car," Zeke spoke just in time for a thin, balding man in a soiled cream-colored dress shirt to come staggering through the door.

"Hi Zeke…" the man weakly slurred as if he were about to fall asleep.

"Pukin' Pete, gotta get ready," Zeke whispered to Artie, "See you later!" he waved as the drunkard collapsed onto a barstool and emptied his stomach contents all over the counter.

"Goddamn it!" Zeke screamed as Artie made his way into the midday streets, noticing how some of the nicer dressed types were strolling about, wanting to get their daily activities out of the way before the crazies came out at night.

He knew Jansport was located next to Komojack Downs, a rough part of town he would be entering. Not in the mood for taking the Sentinel down he looked around for a car he knew he wouldn't mind smashing up if necessary.

A Buccaneer passed him by, its driver busy chatting on the cell phone and making all sorts of hand gestures rather than focusing on driving.

_"Typical idiotic driver, I'll be doing the city a favor when I jack your ride," _Artie thought to himself as he watched the vehicle slow down behind a delivery van and sprang into action.

Running around the back of the car he ripped the driver's side door open and grabbed the man by the collar, punching him in the face and tossing him to the ground in rapid succession before picking up the man's cell phone and placing it to his ear, "Sorry, but your boyfriend is a little 'out of it' at the moment. Call back when he's not behind the wheel," he said before tossing the man's phone to the pavement and stomping on it.

"Hang up and drive bozo," Artie shouted to the fallen driver before climbing into the car and punching the gas pedal.

Getting settled into the car he turned up the radio volume, set to Beatbox 102 and playing Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre's "Nuthin' But a G Thang."

"Been a while," Artie said to himself before starting to sing along with the lyrics. Whenever he heard that song it made him think back to his teenage years and how he and his buddies Vinnie, Ray and T.J. would all drive around as soon as they had gotten their licenses, singing along to whatever hip-hop song they could find and talking about becoming the first "all white rap group" to go triple platinum.

_"The houses in the hills, the garages full of sports cars, the blinged out jewelry, being able to buy their own women and impregnate them endlessly to build up their own small armies…all they would talk about," _Artie smiled to himself, remembering the better times in life. _"I haven't heard from any of those guys in years. I'm gonna have to look them up someday and arrange a reunion," _he thought while coming to a halt behind a Mule van at a stoplight.

While the light turned green he proceeded along with the normal flow of traffic, only to be forced to pull over when two squad cars sped past him with their lights and sirens going.

"Isn't a typical day in Rushmore City unless that happens," Artie said aloud as he spotted where the two cruisers were heading, a side street where some gangbangers could be seen taking cover behind a parked Cavalcade and returning fire with machine pistols.

Once again he made his way into Hellcat-controlled territory, noticing a few of the said gang members driving around in tan-colored Dukes muscle cars with flame decals. Fortunately, they seemed too preoccupied with other matters to notice him.

_"Good thing I didn't bring the Sentinel," _he mentally patted himself on the back, knowing he would surely have been carjacked otherwise. His suspicions were affirmed as he watched a Hellcat run over to a Stinger and blast its driver in the face with an Ingram MAC-10, wrenching the car door open and tossing the body to the pavement before climbing in and taking off.

He found himself driving into another district largely populated by docks and warehouses, as well as a few factories, a bus terminal, a sawmill, both a recycling center and incinerator, and lastly a junkyard with a car crusher featured prominently in the center of the yard.

In a rare plot of open space, Artie found the bright yellow Cluckin' Bell sticking out like a sore thumb among a few strip malls and office buildings. Pulling into the parking lot he parked between a minivan and a Bobcat pickup truck. Aside from the three aforementioned vehicles, the place was largely empty with only two other vehicles present.

Right away the intoxicating smell of chicken assaulted his sense of smell, but he quickly had to remind himself he would be dealing with processed fast food that wasn't even really food to begin with. He knew firsthand, having worked part-time in the kitchen of a Cluckin' Bell during his high school years, where he saw a lot of things nobody in their right mind should ever have to know about.

_"If I told anybody I'd be having the Cluckin' Bell higher-ups on my ass for putting them out of business," _he thought walking toward the double doors, where another member of the Hellcats was in the middle of spraying the gang's tag on the broad side of the building, ignoring the man walking past him like he was just going about his daily routine.

As expected, the place was filthy as was almost any fast food joint he had ever set foot inside. At one table sat two scruffy-looking hillbillies, at another a couple of Japanese tourists, then another where an overweight balding man in a faded Rock of Rushmore t-shirt had a laptop in front of him, engaged in a round of "Planet of Pandemonium," and lastly a nicer-dressed couple who he could tell definitely didn't belong in such a lowly establishment.

_"Alright, he's a cashier," _Artie reminded himself looking towards the front counter where two cashiers stood in the typical outfit of Cluckin' Bell employees, one which required them to wear those degrading chicken headdresses.

The first was an African-American who still had braces on his teeth and pimples all over his face. When the Italian-American inspected him further he saw the man's nametag read 'Billy.'

_"Not my guy," _he told himself looking over to the other cashier, who was in the middle of being yelled at by an overweight Hispanic woman complaining about bone fragments being found in her salad.

"…how do you stupid inbreds expect to keep a business afloat when you're gonna keep having bone fragments, plastic toys and actual chicken shit in your food?" the woman hollered tossing a salad in his face.

"But Ma'am, we always include the complimentary toys in our kid's meal!" the cashier protested.

"Fuck you and fuck Cluckin' Bell!" the woman roared shoving her way past Artie and out the double doors.

"I so hate my life," the cashier muttered as the stinging ranch dressing ran freely down his face. Surely enough, the man's nametag identified him as 'Randy.'

Artie approached the anguished cashier and waited for him to acknowledge his presence, yet his gaze remained far away and he finally had to speak up.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

Like receiving a slap to the face the young man was brought back to our world and frowned at his new prospective customer, "Cluckety fuck! How may I further degrade myself today?" he asked rather than using the simple 'Hello and welcome to Cluckin' Bell, may I take your order?' greeting.

"Are you Randy Spitz?" Artie asked leaning towards the man.

"Who wants to know?" he asked narrowing his eyes towards Artie, "Are you just hear to laugh at me after I was on the news for getting hung by my underwear from the Eastwood Bridge? Throw eggs at me like those Boy Scouts do every weekend? Or just show pictures of your hot girlfriend on your expensive phone to further remind me of what a loser I am and what I'll never have in my life?"

Artie couldn't help but stifle a laugh at some of the info he had just been given, but quickly composed himself, "No, my name is Artie Cappelli. I'm a friend of Zeke's. He said you could help us out with certain things."

Randy did not reply instantly and looked around to make sure nobody was listening in on their conversation, even going as far as to rifle his hand through a container full of honey mustard packets to make sure it wasn't bugged, "Depends on what kind of things you're talking about."

The two were so distracted they didn't even recognize three men walking in wearing industrial coveralls and hockey masks.

"Hey, can we get some freaking service around here?" the leader barked.

Billy the other cashier was on hand to intercept the three men, "Hello and welcome to Cluckin' Bell, muthafuckas! How may I help you?"

"Uh yeah," the leader started, "we would like one Cluckin' Little Meal, uh two Cluckin' Huge meals with extra honey mustard, two Lemon Sprunks and a Loco Cola," and with the last sentence the man pulled out a pump-action shotgun, "…and all of your fuckin' money!" he screamed pointing the barrel at the cashier's face, forcing all the other patrons to cringe. The two accomplices withdrew Micro-MP5's and started gunning down the patrons left and right as a show of force.

Artie threw himself over the counter and started crawling towards Randy, who had yelped a "Holy shit!" aloud and threw his hands into the air.

"Gimme the fuckin' money now you little shit stain!" the leader screamed firing a blast at the cashier.

With lightning quick reflexes Artie managed to grab Randy and pull him beneath the salvo of buckshot directed at his skull, which instead caught another employee in the chest and sent the man falling backwards against a deep fryer, showering him with scalding hot grease as he died.

"Geez Louise!" Randy cried as he watched Billy fall dead next to him with several rounds having torn through his chest.

"Just shut the fuck up and focus on getting out of here!" Artie hissed clamping a hand over the frightened man's mouth. "Is there any way we can get out of here?"

Randy felt around in his pocket until he heard a jingling noise, "Yeah, I borrowed Zeke's Blista Compact. If we can get to the backdoor we can climb in and get the hell outta here."

Nodding in reply Artie pulled out his gun and cocked it, "Get ready to run when I give the signal!"

Another shotgun blast boomed above both men and the cash register Randy manned showered down upon them in fragments of metal and plastic.

"I'd say that's good enough!" Randy screamed.

"Then move," Artie shouted pushing the man forward and rolling for cover behind another partition.

"Hey! Get back here you little chicken-headed bitch!" another robber shouted, firing a barrage at Randy but only striking the wall around him. He was soon forced to duck as Artie leapt out and fired a few shots, allowing himself time to slip out the backdoor.

"Quick! Those turds are escaping!" the leader shouted firing another blast in their direction.

Randy nearly fell to his knees as he flew out the backdoor and completely ignored the staring pedestrians as he frantically searched for Zeke's Blista Compact. He finally spotted it parked in the corner stall next to a beaten up Nebula, just as Artie emerged running out backwards as he fired more rounds at the robbers.

"Get outta my way," Artie screamed shoving an old lady to the ground as he spotted the two door compact and sprinted towards it.

"Oh god…you're gonna have to drive Artie. I don't think my nerves are gonna be able to handle it!" Randy whimpered and tossed the keys over to the shooting man.

A second later the three armed robbers appeared from the kitchen with their weapons drawn.

"There they are!" shouted the third robber, firing a burst at the two fleeing men as they leapt into the small car and backed out, knocking over a drunken bum in the process.

"Don't let them get away! We can't have any witnesses!" the leader ordered as the trio made its way to the beaten up Nebula and began their pursuit.

"Oh god…my life is shit!" Randy squeaked as Artie peeled down the street bobbing and weaving around any incoming traffic. "C'mon Randy, remember what your therapist told you. Think happy thoughts! Think happy thoughts!" he said trying to breathe deeply as he switched the car's radio over to Symphony 104. 1, now playing "Morning Mood" by Edvard Grieg.

"Yes that's it, go to your happy place," he spoke in a cracked tone, "You're not on the streets…no, you're in a lush morning forest. Think of the sun rising above yonder; think of the cool, gentle morning breeze, think of all the bright pretty flowers, think of the birdsongs…"

"_Man, this poor schmuck really does have issues," _Artie thought to himself, not knowing whether he should feel bad for the guy as he swerved to avoid hitting a young woman carrying bags of clothing from the Zip.

The nervous cashier was quickly jarred out of his attempted meditation when the crooks' Nebula rammed them from behind, forcing him to let out an inhuman shriek that sounded like a kettle whistle going off.

"Is your place anywhere near here?" Artie asked swerving to avoid a mail truck, only to move over onto a sidewalk to avoid a tow truck coming from the opposite direction.

"I live in Bellowfield, but those fuckers will follow us!" Randy cried being jolted back and forth by the centrifugal force.

He was right. They didn't want those criminals finding out where Randy lived or else they would put themselves in even greater danger. They had to find a place he knew well outside of his home neighborhood where they could lay low until the crooks lost interest.

Unfortunately, all the split-second thinking, sharp turns, incoming traffic, oblivious pedestrians and buildings made the journey more difficult and if these thugs didn't kill them, one of the aforementioned hazards would.

"What should I do?" Artie shouted, barely swerving around a Linerunner semi-truck and forcing a few cyclists onto the nearby sidewalk, the former colliding head on with a '08 Willard Faction coupe and the latter ripping apart a newsstand. Screaming pedestrians dove out of his way as he took a sharp turn onto a more populated street and smashed through a hot dog vendor's cart and then another abrupt swerve where he plowed through a mountain of trash and knocked over a streetlight.

The robbers were ever persistent and they remained on their tail like a wild animal in pursuit of its injured prey. One hung out of the front passenger window and the third robber had his entire upper torso stuck out from the driver's side back window, both peppering the fleeing Blista Compact's backside with heavy dosages of lead, trying to make it burst into flames or at least take out the rear tires. So far their target had been clever and managed to dodge them with a series of complicated turns.

"Shit!" Randy screeched as Artie barely dodged a construction area and was forced to make another turn into a back alley populated by members of the Hellcats, who took great offense to their poor driving and opened fire upon them as well, forcing them both to duck the bullets as they shattered the windows and penetrated the leather interior.

"Fuck! What did we ever do to you?" the terrified cashier whined as Artie floored it out of the back alley, who at the same time looked into the rearview mirror to see the robbers' car crushing two of the gang members.

Randy shrieked again as Artie ran over a bum digging through a trashcan and then another pushing a rusted old shopping cart before he nearly flattened a group of teenagers playing street hockey in another back alley, but quickly calmed as he saw they were entering familiar territory where he figured they would be more likely to lose the robbers.

His hopes were soon dashed as his borrowed ride was rocked from behind and through the rearview mirror he could see the Nebula's driver pulling out a Tec-9 machine pistol and firing a burst. He ducked down at the last second as the rounds tore off the top of his seat.

"You're not escaping us that easily chicken shit!" he shouted firing wildly at the car, riddling the entire body with bullets and ripping some of the feathers away from his headdress.

"Bwok! I mean shit!" Randy cursed as the fake feathers fell into his lap.

The blaring horn of a pickup truck caught Artie's attention as he was speeding down the wrong lane and barely managed to switch over to the right side, clipping a Landstalker and sending it flying head on into a small shoe store. There was no time to feel concerned for the couple in the wrecked SUV, they had to do something and fast.

"There's no way around these clowns! We're gonna have to fight back!" Artie shouted pulling out his Glock and offering it to the frightened cashier, "Here, try slowing them down!"

"But I've never fired a gun before!" Randy protested.

"Well now's your chance to learn! Now just take it for fuck sake!" Artie roared forcing the gun into the younger man's shaking hands, a loud _'thunk' _distracting the cashier as the car rammed into a pedestrian.

"Oh my god…I should've called in sick today," Randy whined as he saw the fresh blood now decorating the teal car's crumpled hood.

"Less whining, more shooting," Artie shouted back knocking over a parked Faggio.

The metallic pings of bullets striking their car made the Cluckin' Bell cashier jump repeatedly and drop the pistol to the floor, causing it to discharge within the vehicle and make Artie leap, sending him crashing through a chain-link fence near the strip mall housing Randy's favorite SubUrban clothing store, clipping a parked Hellenbach GT and activating its alarm.

"Damn it! Don't fucking scare me like that again!" Artie shouted back, relieved neither one of them had been hit by the misfired bullet.

He would have another sticky situation to contend with as clipping the parked car had been the hood and caused it to flip backward, heavily obscuring his vision before he sped up enough for it to go flying off.

"Okay, now just fucking shoot, the safety's off!" Artie ordered speeding through another intersection while the light was red; leaving him just inches from clipping a fancy Coquette sports car. "Pretend it's a pretty flower you're holding!"

Taking a few deep breaths, Randy stuck his arm out his shattered window and managed to squeeze off three rounds, the last of which would strike an R.C.P.D. patrol cruiser.

"Oh god…" the cashier whimpered as the vehicle's lights and sirens switched on and the car began chasing after them, "…I'm so going to jail…and I don't even have the money to bail myself out! Seriously, I wasted the last of my money fixing up my old broken down Perennial, only to have one of those Hellcat maniacs jack it the next day!"

"You're not going to jail, now give me that," Artie said swiping the gun.

Looking forward at the last second, Artie could only curse aloud as he spotted a road crew in the middle of repairing some potholes just inches ahead of him, the leader worker frantically waving his 'Stop' sign at him. Before he could even entertain the idea of hitting the brakes it was too late.

Artie slammed head on into the sign man and sent him flying through the air, followed by more heavy thuds as he struck the other workers and splattered their blood all over his windshield, and some crunches as a jackhammer flew onto his exposed engine and then struck the bloodied screen, spider webbing it but not shattering it.

_"This is the R.C.P.D.! Pull over at once!" _an officer called out over his car's microphone, barely heard above the deafening wail of his siren.

With the blood and cracks heavily obscuring his vision Artie raised his pistol and shot the windshield out, bringing his hand up to shield his face from any shards of glass.

"Are you trying to fucking kill us both?" Randy cried throwing his arms over his head.

"No, I'm trying to fucking help us see better!" Artie shouted back.

It turned out to be a stupid move on his behalf as black smoke began spewing freely from the car's battered engine, wafting into the interior and causing both of them to cough and gag.

_"Nice going Artie," _he scolded himself as his vision was now further obscured.

The long, wild ride continued for both men until their fears would soon be realized. Two loud pops could be heard above the sound of screeching tires, followed by intense heat.

Artie just realized his rear tires had been popped as he swerved uncontrollably around the street trying to regain control, but was failing miserably as he brushed against several parked cars, soon finding himself cutting through high weeds and bushes much to his confusion. Looking ahead, he spotted flames rising from the engine and knew they would soon have to bail out.

"Mother of…"

The flaming Blista Compact sped through a quaint park, scaring away many pedestrians and running over a few gathered for a picnic as it sped aimlessly towards a fiery destination, which at the moment appeared to be towards the small pond in the center of the park. The water would have immediately doused the flames, but that was not to be.

KA-BOOM!

The compact car exploded into a reddish-orange ball of flame, sending twisted metal flying in all directions before it hit the water. Within seconds everything was suddenly as calm as it had been before the burning car's appearance.

The armed robbers witnessed the explosion from a distance and the two other criminals smirked, proud of their 'work.' The leader however, was not as certain and turned to his men, "C'mon, we have to search the area and make sure those shitheads didn't make it outta there alive!"

"But the car blew up! There's no way they could've escaped that alive!" the second man protested.

"Yeah and what about the cops?" the third asked.

The nearby siren distracted the leader from his current train of thought and he looked into his rearview mirror to see the pursuing car coming towards them.

"You clowns win this round, but if I hear anything about survivors I'm killing both of you myself!" the leader growled before shifting the Nebula back into drive and speeding off.

Unknown to the armed robbers something stirred in the water behind them.

Artie emerged from the cold water, gasping heavily and hurriedly wiping the water from his eyes.

"Son of a fucking bitch…" he repeated over and over again as he swam towards the shore and pulled himself out of the water, shaking everything he could from his drenched garments. The young man stumbled along the shore until his foot nudged an article of clothing.

His eyes widened as the object was revealed to be the headdress of a Cluckin' Bell uniform.

"Randy!" he blurted aloud and began running along the shoreline for any traces of his missing companion, finding more remnants of the cashier's uniform as he moved about, until he heard horrified screams coming from nearby.

Washed up along the pond's shore lay Randy Spitz in nothing but his undershirt and boxers, kicking and screaming. Upon getting closer Artie noticed the cause of the young man's hysteria, a used condom that had found its way onto his face.

"Ahhh! Get it off! Get it off!" he screamed repeatedly as he swatted away at the latex contraceptive as if a swarm of locusts surrounded him.

"Just a second," Artie called out grabbing a nearby stick and using it to carefully pry the used condom away from the frightened man's face.

"Thank God!" Randy blurted out as he crawled over to the pond on his hands and knees and reached in for handfuls of water to splash on his face, hoping to wash any bodily fluids away. "Thank you so much Artie, I owe you my life!" he said returning his attention to the Italian-American, only to realize he was now wearing nothing but his white undershirt, socks and a pair of boxers covered by teddy bears, with three other people standing nearby pointing and laughing their asses off at him.

"Nice underwear kid, did your mommy spend a buck fifty on those?" a construction worker shouted.

Sensing the man's humiliation Artie withdrew his Glock, which thankfully had not become waterlogged, and pointed it at the laughing man.

"Get the fuck outta here now or else I'm giving you a free sex change!" he growled, training his aim on the man's crotch.

Without hesitation the construction worker took off running, as did the other laughing people.

"My humiliation never ceases to end…" the cashier lamented.

"Relax, I'm gonna get you out of here," Artie assured as he noticed the wallet of an older man who had been run over by the flaming car moments before and swiped it up to find sixty dollars and a voucher for a free private dance from Queen Sheba's Revue.

A nearby sign told him they were currently in Nixon Park, a low-lying plot of land dominated by the pond they had just been in, along with the bridge covering it and a few small kiosks set up.

Doing what he could to prevent his companion from enduring further embarrassment, Artie quickly hailed a taxi cab and motioned for him to hop in.

"Bellowfield! Take us to Gustav St. and please get us out of here now!" Randy ordered scrunching his body up and laid down on the seat to avoid being spotted by any pedestrians who would break down laughing at the sight of a grown man running around with teddy bear-patterned boxers on.

"Sure thing kiddo, for a second there I thought you were heading to some gay pride convention in San Fierro. Why else would a grown man run around dressed like that in broad daylight?" the driver chuckled.

"Ha ha, real funny," Randy sarcastically laughed.

Artie on the other hand had heard enough and pointed his Glock at the back of the man's head, causing him to nearly piss himself right on the spot.

"Look pal, we've been through enough shit already today and right now we need to get some place safe and secure. We're paying you to get us there, not be a fucking comedian. Now do your fucking job or else I'm gonna paint this interior with your brain matter! Capiche?"

"Okay, okay I'll get you there! Sheesh!" the driver nervously laughed as he started towards their destination.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Drop us off here," Randy said to the driver as they approached a tiny one store house covered in peeling green paint with all of its windows either barred or boarded up.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Artie asked looking over the 'house' closely. It looked like one of those shacks crudely thrown together by a few boards and pieces of sheet metal he would see on a documentary about some third world country, one inhabited by an entire cluster of people with accommodations intended for only one person. From what he saw, the place was probably no more than three rooms at the most, not much of a step up from a cardboard box.

"Yes I'm sure; now just pay the guy already!" Randy replied climbing out.

"N-No that won't be necessary! You two just get out and enjoy yourselves!" the driver blurted out before taking off down the street.

Artie continued to stare at the glorified shack Randy called a home.

_"Now I know why he sounds so bummed out about life in general. If I lived in a place that looked like it had no heating and cooling, electricity or running water I'd be pissed off too," _he told himself noticing a mailbox that had been snapped from its foundation, along with a front lawn covered in dead grass and marred by tire tracks, also covered by discarded broken beer bottles, spent joints, a few emptied bullet casings and he swore he even spotted a severed finger lying somewhere in the mix.

Randy looked around cautiously before kneeling down and pulling a rusted spare key out from underneath his filthy doormat and had to jostle the front door a few times before it finally fell from its hinges.

"Goddamn it!" he grunted before hearing Artie walking up behind him, "Come on in," he sighed, stepping on a weak floorboard that collapsed beneath his foot. "I'm alright! Just come on in!" he said pulling his foot out and forcing himself inside.

Artie nearly gagged as he was overcome by the combined stenches of mold and rotting food, but forced himself to take it in as he stepped into what could have roughly been described as the living room/kitchen area of the 'house.'

Randy disappeared into a room off to the side and Artie was left to stand in the room alone, trying not to take in the depressing surroundings.

_"Seriously, I almost feel like I need to be seeing a shrink or something from just standing in here alone," _he thought looking towards the tattered green couch and a heavily scratched up coffee table supported by cinder blocks on one side and covered in empty soda cans, food wrappers, peanut butter jars, pizza boxes and God knows what else, which served as the only real furniture in the room. Hell, there wasn't even anything amenity-wise in the kitchen outside of a refrigerator with its door hanging on by one hinge and an oven which looked like it would be set ablaze the second anybody tried using it.

The only thing that appeared to be well cared for was a framed comic book hanging over the couch, upon closer inspection it was seen to be the first ever issue of 'Patriot Man' and was autographed by its creator Stan MacFarlane, a series Artie himself had followed as a child.

Randy emerged from the other room now dressed in a yellow t-shirt, gray shorts and old blue and white athletic shoes. His short shaggy brown hair had since dried and he took a puff from an inhaler before speaking, "I know…it's hard to make yourself feel at home in a place like this," the young man sighed in his typical melancholy tone.

"No offense, but how do you deal with this dump?" Artie asked staring through the cracks of one of the boarded up windows, where another tan Dukes carrying members of the Hellcats passed by, its passenger performing a drive-by shooting on a similarly beaten up house across the street.

Come to think of it, pretty much all the houses were in the same condition as Randy's, a few of which had even burnt to the ground with their charred husks left behind, the city not even bothering to tear them down and build newer, nicer houses over them. It was as if the Bellowfield district had been totally forgotten and was left to slowly rot away into nothing.

"It's just life I guess…" Randy replied collapsing onto the couch, "…nothing ever goes right for me. I work a dead end job at Cluckin' Bell, which will probably be shut down now thanks to those fuckers back there, live in a dumpy house where I'm constantly under the threat of eviction, put up with bored assholes who like to play 'Beat the Cock' with my co-workers and I, put up with at least one robbery a week, this most recent being the fourth one this week alone…"

"Man, that does suck," Artie managed to get in, but didn't get much more as Randy continued with his rant, placing a pillow over his head and talking into it.

"…not only that, I had a side job working as a courier with Zynam's Food Mart, wasn't the best, but still better than Cluckin' Bell, which I lost after some kids shooting a skateboarding video got in my way and caused me to skid out of control and collide with some old granny, destroying all the packages I had been ordered to deliver…"

Artie began pacing back and forth, covering his ears to block out the man's whining, but it was to no avail.

"…if that wasn't bad enough I was seeing some nice girl, seemed like 'the one,' until she found out I was working at Cluckin' Bell and dumped my sorry ass, claiming she 'didn't want to spend the rest of her life with a nobody who wore a fucking chicken head for a living' blah, blah, blah…"

"Uh Randy," Artie said trying to break through the broken man's rant.

"…and when I could have escaped from this menial, dead end existence through a job with Zombo Industries, my car decides to take a shit on me and I have to spend all my money getting it fixed, only to get it carjacked the next day…"

"Randy!" Artie shouted this time, but still couldn't be heard as the cashier was bawling like a man going through a nervous breakdown.

"…and if that's not bad enough…I get burglarized and the bastards make off with my TV set, boombox, GBOX 720, microwave oven, even my stash of Playhouse magazines, and the cops can't do a damned thing about it because they're too busy getting drunk and getting laid…"

"Randy, snap out of it!" Artie screamed grabbing the bawling cashier by the ankles and yanking him from the couch, causing him to land hard on the weathered floor.

"Ow…uh what?" he muttered, looking around before seeing Artie standing above him.

"Never mind about all the other stuff, I've heard you're knowledgeable about electronics and computers, how can you help us out?" Artie asked reaching down to help Randy back to his feet, struggling as the young man had landed in something sticky.

"Okay, okay, allow me to show you," Randy said leading Artie into the side room, which appeared to be the house's bedroom, judging by the only real piece of furniture being a roach-infested mattress lying towards the back of the room. Other than that, there was nothing but old clothes strewn all over the floor and an old teddy bear with a little red bowtie.

Walking over to a weak-looking part of the wall, Randy carefully pulled it aside and emerged with a laptop in hand.

"Like this," he said plugging it into a nearby wall, a miracle he wasn't electrocuted given his poor luck.

"You give me a name, address, phone number, Social Security number, credit card number, driver's license number, any of that good stuff; I assure you I can hack into anything and get whatever info you need on them," Randy explained as a devious smile crossed his features, "If I would've had this baby on us back in the car I could've hacked into the R.C.P.D.'s database and gotten them off our tail."

"Really, now that's news to me. Zeke said you knew a thing or two about these kinds of things," Artie continued.

"Just a thing or two?" Randy asked sounding offended, "I'm so shooting him in the face for that the next time I see him…in an online gaming sense that is! I can do all sorts of things. Hell, I almost got expelled back in junior high after I turned my sister's vibrator into a pipe bomb! Luckily my uncle was on the school board, the only thing that saved my ass."

"Yeah, I'm sure Zeke's told you of some kind of 'campaign' he's trying to start up against all those loan sharks terrorizing his boss, but quite frankly I'm sure he doesn't even know half of what he could be getting himself into. Either way, it can't be good," Artie said rolling his eyes.

"Uh yeah, he warned me you might sound a little pessimistic over that," Randy said flipping his laptop shut and rising back to his feet. "Nonetheless, if you ever need my help I'll be more than happy to do whatever I can," he said offering Artie a slip of paper with his phone number written on it.

"I honestly don't any money to pay you for helping me out with this job…but I can set up an e-mail account for you on EyeFind if you want! It would be a good way for you to keep in touch with myself and the other 'war buddies' if you ever decide to join us!" Randy suggested, to which Artie only shrugged his shoulders.

"Go ahead; I enjoy getting random e-mails convincing me I need pills to make my dick bigger," he sarcastically replied before pulling out the wallet he found in the park and offering it to his new acquaintance, "Keep it and until then watch yourself," he said looking around the cramped, crumbling quarters, "You should also look around for any other jobs and a new place while you're at it. I'm sure Zeke and Iceman will gladly help you if the need arises."

Making his way outside Artie made sure to put the front door back into place, or at least try to, before leaving.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Zeke's number.

"Hey Zeke, what's up? It's Artie!"

_"Did you get through to Randy?" _Zeke asked, the sounds of laughter in the background indicating he actually had some customers in the background.

"Yeah, I got through to him alright, quite an adventure unto itself. I got him home in one piece though and he seems down for helping any way he can," Artie replied.

_"Yeah, he'd better have gotten home in one piece alright, crazy fucker's borrowing my car," _Zeke spoke.

"About that…"Artie trailed on with a nervous laugh.

_"What about that? Did something happen to my car?" _Zeke demanded.

"Well let's just say the Cluckin' Bell got robbed and the gentlemen pulling off the job didn't take very kindly to having any possible witnesses. Needless to say we got chased and your car…well it sort of got blown up."

_"What?" _Zeke screamed on the other end, silencing those in attendance, _"What the fuck do you mean my car got blown up? That was my only fucking car! How the hell am I going to get around now? You sons of bitches fucking owe me!"_

"Zeke calm down! Calm the fuck down man!" Artie shouted back.

_"How the fuck can you tell me to calm down? You know I don't make enough money here to afford a new car right now! Christ, Gino can't even afford to pay me half the time!" _the bartender hollered in a rage.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'll steal you a new one!" Artie replied, "Yeah, that's it. I'll steal you a new one. You tell me exactly what you want and I can have it to you in no time."

A few deep breaths followed before Zeke finally spoke up in a much calmer tone, _"You'd better not be yanking my fucking chain with this promise of yours. You'd better fucking deliver or else I'm gonna shove my shotgun up your ass and pull the trigger!"_

"Fine, fine I'll hold you to it. If I mess up, well yeah I get the idea," Artie said nodding in defeat.

_"Well I want it fast because Vile Crud has another show at the 7__th__ Circle coming up soon. You know I don't like missing my shows," _the bartender spoke.

"Yeah, yeah I'll talk to you later," Artie said before switching his phone off.

"Now to get the hell outta this shithole," he told himself looking around for any means of transportation out of there.

At one of the houses across the street he spotted a yellow and black Sanchez dirt bike propped up against the weathered building, practically calling out to him. Sprinting over to it before anybody could come chasing after him with a shotgun; he switched it on and sped away from the accursed Bellowfield neighborhood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Okay and now onto my usual post-chapter randomness, the GBOX 720 is obviously meant to be a parody of the XBOX 360. "Planet of Pandemonium" is a spoof of "World of Warcraft" and Patriot Man is a spoof of Captain America, his creator's name Stan MacFarlane being a combination of Stan Lee (Spiderman, The Fantastic Four, The Incredible Hulk, etc.) and Todd MacFarlane (of Spawn fame). I figured I would take some pity on Randy and give him at least one nice thing in his shithole.

Randy is closely inspired by Zero from San Andreas because every GTA game needs some geeky character in it to laugh at. If this were an actual video game, Randy would do the same thing Francis McReary does if you spare him in the "Blood Brothers" mission and what Kiki Jenkins does if you date her, where he would be able to hack into the police database and clear anything you have for a up to a three star wanted level.

Well that's it for the time being so until then read and review as always or else I'm gonna have Randy go Wikileaks on your ass! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	9. Special Delivery

Author's Note: I checked out the reference Afro Spirit made to "The Big Bang Theory" and I think I seriously could picture that Sheldon guy as a physical model for Randy Spitz, and yeah I try to portray him as somebody you want to feel sympathy for, yet at the same time you can't help but laugh at him.

And yes I am familiar with "Drawn Together" and thought Captain Hero (although I did find it maybe a little too disturbing in the episode where his parents come to visit and he's dressed up like a prostitute) and Spanky the Pig were both funny as hell, and also Princess Clara's interactions with Foxxy Love.

Just wanted to get that out of the way before I start so now on with the story!

Chapter 9: Special Delivery

_"Just another day," _Artie thought to himself while pumping the unleaded fuel into the Sentinel's gas tank.

He had been out for a daily drive to escape from the cramped confines of the apartment and was just getting back from exploring Jefferson Vale when his tank was running low and he needed a refill. The closest gas station was the E-Z Mart in Bellport, across the street from the 24/7 convenience store.

_"Don't know what else is going on, but hopefully something," _he told himself while scoping out an attractive blonde in a cocktail dress at the pump across from him, having just finished filling up her bright red Feltzer and bending over to pick her credit card off the pavement, giving him a perfect shot of her scrumptious-looking ass.

Behind him was a bright red cab with the classic black and white checkered stripe along the sides and spikes protruding from the front bumper, which appeared to be covered in fresh blood. The driver was a dark-haired man in mirrored shades reclining casually against his car and the hitman was left to wonder if he really was a cabbie or some contestant in one of those vehicular combat shows similar to 'Warped Steel.'

The only other customer was a teenager clad entirely in black with spiked bracelets and several chains hanging from his belt, filling up a mostly black NRG-500 superbike with blood red decals along the side that resembled spikes.

A loud click brought the errand boy out of his lull and he reached down to place the hose back into the pump and screwed the gas cap back on before making his way inside, where he saw a nerdy-looking man at the counter wearing a Magic & Monsters t-shirt placing a box of Spartan Condoms on the front counter.

"That'll be five bucks," the Arabic cashier spoke waiting patiently for the customer to produce his money.

"Ah yeah, I'm gonna be having an actual flesh and blood girl over to my place tonight for a study session. I have to be prepared," the kid spoke with a thick lisp.

_"Heh, good luck with that junior," _Artie thought barely suppressing a small chuckle,_ "Probably just another virginal loser living in his parents' basement trying to look cool for the outside world. If I was in one of my 'asshole moods' I'd be telling him to stick to those mages and fairies from Planet of Pandemonium," _he said to himself approaching the counter.

"Thirty bucks pump three," Artie said placing three ten dollar bills onto the counter.

"Thank you! Come again sir!" the cashier replied in his thick dialect, sounding rather cartoonish in nature.

Artie did no reply and made his way back to the Sentinel, switching his radio to Rock of Rushmore 89.5, now playing "I Want Out" by Helloween.

The drive back to Camden Heights wasn't a long trek and it was roughly within fifteen minutes he was arriving at his cousin's bar and parking out back, the alley thankfully free of any disease-ridden wannabe hookers, before making his way inside.

"Hey Artie," Zeke waved from behind the bar before he went to serve a shot to some tough-looking bearded man seated at the counter.

"Hey Zeke," he replied walking to the counter and taking a seat at the opposite end of the bar, in perfect view of a baseball game taking place between the Rushmore City Statesmen and the Carcer City Panhandlers, "Get me a Sprunk please while you're up and about."

"No problem!" the bartender replied reaching into a small refrigerator beneath the counter and pulling out a can for his new friend.

While he waited patiently for his drink Artie looked around at the clientele for today, noticing the place was a little fuller than usual. Aside from the bearded man, there were two guys playing pool at one of the tables, three more in one of the booths playing a pretty heated game of Hi-Lo, an already drunken woman in a cowboy hat hooting and hollering loudly as she swiveled her hips around with her drink spilling all over her, another young lady who was playing Lit's "My Own Worst Enemy" on the jukebox, two frat boys coming in and taking seats at the bar, and as usual, Pukin' Pete could be heard from the men's restroom.

"This is better than you guys usually get," Artie said to Zeke as he opened his can for him, "Either you getting rid of that Borker bitch really helped things out or you learned some kind of new marketing trick I wasn't aware of."

"Heh, could be a little of both I guess," Zeke chuckled as the men's room door opened and Gino emerged with a newspaper in hand.

"Eh Artie, how ya' doin'?" he said walking over to give his younger cousin a hearty pat on the back, "Just another day in paradise, don't cha' agree?"

The younger Cappelli cousin had to stifle a chortle at the remark.

"Well if your definition of 'Paradise' is a roach-infested shithole dive bar-" to which Zeke began stomping his feet down in emphasis, several sick splats following, "-and your definition of its inhabitants being a bunch of people getting their kicks at destroying their own livers on a daily basis, then I guess I'd be inclined to agree that things are just fuckin' peachy!"

"Yeah, sure they are," Gino replied ignoring the insult, "Hey I need to talk to you for a bit, so why don't cha' come with me?" he said motioning for his cousin to follow him to his office.

"So what's up now?" Artie asked, remaining standing while his cousin took a seat behind his desk in the cramped quarters.

Gino took some time to compose himself, resting his head in his hands before looking up to his cousin with worried eyes.

"That prick Johnny Sneed called me yesterday and as usual was bitching me out about wanting his usual tribute," the elder Cappelli explained while struggling to keep himself calm.

Artie exhaled deeply and had to resist the urge to punch the wall next to him. "That prick again? Jesus, when will he just fucking learn to give it up?"

"Knowing that rat bastard, never," Gino replied reaching into a drawer and pulling out a bottle of anti-anxiety pills and shoving a few into his mouth and gulping them down loudly, much to his cousin's disgust. "If Hell froze over tomorrow you can bet your sweet ass he'd be down there demanding Satan repay his loan for the heating repairs. That guy's literally like a bad case of herpes…just ask Old Freda out back!"

The younger Cappelli suppressed the urge to gag and began waving his hands wildly in front of him, "Okay, okay, okay Gino that's enough! That's enough! You don't need to go that far! Christ, now I won't be able to eat anything for the rest of the day!"

Gino ignored his cousin's outburst and rose to his feet, "There's gotta be something you can do about it. I alone obviously can't manage to gather all the tribute that son of a bitch needs and poor Zeke can't help me much either. I'm gonna need you to help me out…please if not for me, at least do it for Mama and Papa! I'm not in any hurry to be joining them in the afterlife, please Cuz you've gotta help me out!"

Artie calmed himself and looked towards the family photo hanging on the wall behind his cousin. Gino may have been a whiner and a liar, but even he wouldn't deserve the kind of fate Johnny Sneed would likely have waiting once he got his hands on him. To him, he was still family…even that troublesome sack of shit Donnie.

"Okay, what do you want me to do now?" the younger Cappelli asked, steeling himself for the kind of reply Gino would likely have for him, "Do you want me to kill somebody? Rob somebody? Blackmail somebody?"

"No, no, no!" Gino replied looking down to a business card lying on his desk, "Cuz, I want you to help somebody who could easily give us a steady income and I think this could very well be a concrete solution."

"I'm all ears then," Artie said crossing his arms over his chest.

"Okay, there's a lady I know, I met her through my therapy group. She's a local businesswoman who has her own little 'side job' as well and from what I hear she makes quite a bit of green off of it," Gino explained.

"Therapy group?" Artie asked with his eyes widening, _"Why do all the head cases find their way to me?"_

"Yeah, that Aunt Gracie lady who runs the diner, sweet old lady…as long as you don't piss her off. Anyways, she and I were talking one day and she says she is always looking for the extra help. Maybe if you swing by she'll have something for you, tell her I sent you!" Gino exclaimed before collapsing back into his seat.

"I don't know Cuz-" Artie started before he was cut off.

"You have to!" Gino blurted out as he began rocking violently at his cousin's protest, "Please, please, please Artie, please consider it! I need the money bad…you need the money…hell poor Zeke needs the money! I can barely keep a roof over our heads and you've gotta do something fast or else I'm gonna be at the bottom of the Komojack River with a pair of cement shoes!"

"Alright, alright I'll consider it, please just calm the fuck down!" Artie shouted grabbing his cousin by the shoulders and steadying him. "I'll go over and give it a look. Just keep your marbles all in one place," he said making his way out the door and leaving the older man in a near catatonic state. He approached the bar where Zeke was attempting to flirt with some young ladies who had just entered and plopped down next to them.

"Zeke, you'd better keep an eye on Gino. Make sure he doesn't have a massive coronary," Artie said looking back towards the office before approaching the front door.

"Will do," the bartender blurted out with a curt wave before returning his attention to the women.

Stepping outside Artie looked around for any available means of transportation, noticing a cab driving past, yet was already carrying three passengers.

He suddenly snapped his fingers when he took notice of a Steel Horse manufactured Zombie parked outside the Pawn-o-Rama.

"Time to rock on outta here," he said running over and throwing one leg over the motorcycle, only to hear a booming voice call out from behind.

"Hey buddy, that's my bike! Get yer fuckin' ass off a it!" the unseen assailant shouted before grabbing him by the shoulders and throwing him to the concrete.

A burly man stood tall above him, wearing a Confederate flag-patterned bandana and a denim vest with a patch identifying him as a member of the Whiteskins M.C. "Time ta' teach yer monkey ass a lesson in respect!" the biker growled pulling out a butterfly knife.

Artie shot his foot out and caught the man in his shin, bringing him down to a knee before he shot both his feet out and struck him in the chest. He pushed himself back to his feet, but the persistent outlaw lunged at him, only to miss and go face down into the ground.

"Then you shouldn't be leaving such a beautiful bike out in the open like this," Artie taunted before stomping his attacker repeatedly until the man cried out in pain and was left coughing up blood, "Amateur!"

Artie switched the bike's radio over to Rock of Rushmore 89.5, now playing "Working Man" by Rush, and sped down the street in time to avoid a green Landstalker nearly clipping him, chased by a police cruiser.

"Motherfuckers," the hitman shouted over his shoulder as he continued down the street, spotting two more cruisers parked outside the Shocker Electronics store, where officers had been questioning a suspected drunken driver, his Contender pickup truck having driven through the store's front display window.

_"There are some idiots in this city who frighten me, and those who actually make me laugh," _he thought to himself as he approached Aunt Gracie's Corner Diner, where the only other vehicles present were a Linerunner and a Mule van, a stark contrast from the last time he ate there.

"Should mean some faster service," he said to himself dismounting the motorcycle and making his way inside, finding the only other patrons to be some tough-looking guy in trucker's garb and two sneaky-looking fellows in industrial jumpers. Fortunately they appeared to be too caught up in their own activities to notice him as he slipped into a booth.

The only employee he spotted right away was a brunette pink-clad waitress, who seemed busier texting some friend of hers rather than taking notice of the new customer, yet no signs of an older woman he assumed would be the diner's proprietor. A kitchen door swung open behind him, but it was a plump, middle-aged woman approaching him with a menu.

"Hello and welcome to Aunt Gracie's Corner Diner, may I get you something to drink while you decide what you want to order?" the waitress asked dryly, uninterested in the new customer and already succumbing to the fatigue displayed in her brown eyes.

"I'll take an orange Sprunk and I won't need a menu, ma'am. I already know what I want," Artie said bringing his hand up.

"Okay sir, what may I get you then?" she asked reaching for her notepad.

"I'll take one of your large cheeseburgers with extra onions and a basket of fries," he replied, prompting an odd stare from the woman.

"You sure don't eat much for being a big, strong-looking guy," she remarked.

"Ma'am please, I just want my food thank you very much," Artie replied dismissively.

"Okay then," she said walking off with his order written down.

"Um ma'am wait, I almost forgot," Artie said calling out, "Is Aunt Gracie by any chance in today?"

"She is, but she's very busy at the moment," the waitress replied, "She's very hands on with her business y'know."

"Uh yeah, thanks," Artie replied and looked around noticing there was no newspaper to keep him occupied, but there was an old television set where he noticed 'The Dianne Cooter Show' was on, hosted by the local celebrity and champion of family values by the same name, currently in the middle of interviewing Mayor Ron Walker.

_"Mayor Walker, there are many within this great city who have criticized your alleged 'lack of action' regarding several complaints of rampant corruption within your administration, police brutality being carried out for minor offenses, using taxpayer funds for a family vacation to Thailand, as well as your recent decision to strip all local unions of their collective bargaining rights, the most vocal of them being your opponent in the upcoming election, Robert Kretchell-"_

The crowd booed loudly at the mention of the mayor's Democratic challenger, cutting off the host midway through her question and she waited for them to die down before continuing.

_"Mayor Walker, how do you respond to these allegations?"_

_ "Well Dianne," _the mayor cleared his throat before continuing, _"I won't lie, I truly do believe it is unfair of my critics to attack me over my resolve to restore this city to its former glory, pulling it out of the cesspool my predecessor turned it into with his liberal policies aimed at coddling rapists, murderers, child molesters, prostitutes, smugglers, and those juvenile delinquents illegally downloading music through Crackster-"_

The mayor found himself cut off as the crowd booed even louder at the mention of his unnamed predecessor.

_"Yes, thank you," _Mayor Walker said to the crowd before continuing, _"With the state of decay this city was left in I have been forced to make some unpopular choices…at least they're unpopular with all those hippies over in the LaFollette district-" _the politician spoke before he was again interrupted.

_"Fuck the LaFollette district! Fuck those liberal douchebags! Send N.O.O.S.E. over there to bomb the hell outta all of 'em!" _shouted an overzealous audience member dressed like a Founding Father with a misspelled sign reading _'Comminest Robart Crotchell wants to raype ma wife, kill mah granbabies, take my gunz an take mah Jesus!,' _his inflammatory remarks drawing a standing ovation from the capacity crowd.

_"Again thank you for your kind words sir," _the mayor said waving to the man, _"Anyways back to the point, why do you think Camelot fell? Because King Arthur was too busy being 'kind and merciful' when he should've been taking Excalibur and chopping the heads off of all those dragons and disease-ridden peasants? Why do you think Rome fell? Because Caesar was too busy allowing his men to partake in homosexual orgies! _(A comment which drew a deafening gasp from the audience) _Why do you think Lincoln got shot? Because he was too busy letting the Indians run free and scalping everything that moved! Why do you think Canada became Communist? Because their Mounties were too busy fornicating with the moose and beavers to the point where the Chinese government was able to ship in their agents disguised as cute, cuddly panda bears to march straight to Ottawa, kill their prime minister and install Jackie Chan as their new dictator for life!_

_ "I will do whatever I must to keep this city safe from those who wish to ruin it, even if it means I have to declare martial law or start planting bombs around the soup kitchens to kill off all the homeless!" _the mayor finished, his homily drawing raucous applause from the audience.

"At least he got Canada's capital right," Artie muttered to himself as his food arrived.

"You have yourself a nice meal now," the waitress said before disappearing from sight.

Artie said nothing and went to work devouring his meal, able to plow through it much faster with nobody around to distract him. As soon as he guzzled down the last of his Sprunk he let out a loud belch, not caring if he grossed anybody out, including the rude waitress at the counter, who stopped in mid text to crinkle her nose in disgust at him.

Feeling a little heavier after his meal, Artie slowly pulled himself out of his booth and made his way over to the bathroom to do his 'business.'

As soon as he was finished washing his hands a gunshot rang out and the other patrons quickly scattered. Frightened cries coming from the kitchen indicated any of the other workers present had begun to flee as well.

"Now what do we have going on in this 'oh so wonderful place?'" he asked withdrawing his Glock and taking a position behind the counter, ready in case any gunmen were to come storming through. A door leading to the kitchen was half open and he could hear a man's whimpering.

Creeping around the counter the errand boy carefully approached the door and snuck into the presumably empty kitchen, following after the source of the pained cries. Sneaking up to the nearest corner, he peeked his head around and saw what was up.

Lying on the floor was a young African-American man with his hair worn in cornrows, bleeding from a wound in his shoulder. Upon closer inspection, he saw it was one of the same thugs he had beaten up a few days ago at the Well Stacked pizza parlor.

Standing over him was an older woman with snow white hair worn in a bun on the back of her head and wearing a long pink sweater over a green blouse and skirt, holding a smoking Beretta M9 in her hands.

"Tyrell you little bastard, you cost me five-thousand dollars! You best give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you right here, right now!" the old woman spat viciously.

"Please Aunt Gracie…" the bleeding man begged, but was cut off before he could say anything else.

"You *BANG* best *BANG* learn *BANG* how *BANG* to *BANG* do *BANG* things *BANG* right *BANG* if *BANG* you *BANG* want *BANG* more *BANG* work *BANG* you *BANG* asshole!" she screamed, firing her pistol with every word until her gun clicked empty, "Damn it!"

The woman noticed Artie and her hateful façade quickly transformed into that of a sweet old granny.

"Is everything alright for you kind sir? I trust you received the best service possible while visiting my humble establishment?" Aunt Gracie asked, smiling pleasantly as she shoved her empty gun into a side pocket.

"Well, I couldn't help but notice your treatment of one of your 'employees' down there," Artie spoke staring down at the man's shot up carcass.

An angry scowl crossed the woman's features and she reached over for a meat cleaver, "Don't you be telling me how to treat my employees you cocksucker, or else I'd more than gladly chop your sorry ass into tiny pieces and make you part of my patty melts!" she screamed lunging towards him, prompting the young man to back off with his hands raised defensively.

"Whoa! Whoa there lady! I'm not telling you how to do anything!" he said backing towards the kitchen entrance, "Then again, when you fire a gun in a small place like this it's hard not to take notice!"

A cell phone rang and the woman took her attention away from Artie, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a Badger phone.

"Yes, what is it?" she screamed, "You'll get your shipment you annoying cunt, just hold your fucking horses!"

"An unsatisfied customer?" Artie asked as the woman switched her phone off.

Aunt Gracie resumed her genteel, business-like demeanor before speaking, "In a matter of speaking young man, a client of mine needs to receive her 'medication.' Without it, she cannot function properly and loses her will to live."

"Hey lady, I'm not a cop," Artie said holstering his firearm, "Whatever kind of drugs you're giving her, that's between the two of you."

Aunt Gracie giggled innocently before speaking, "There is a situation though. That 'gentleman' you saw back there was both my deliveryman and bodyguard. I would deliver the merchandise all by myself, but I am an old woman. Surely those misguided ruffians out there wouldn't hesitate to 'bust a cap in my ass' if given the opportunity. I will require assistance in getting this job done."

"Um yeah, I was sort of here about that," Artie said rubbing the back of his neck, "My cousin, Gino Cappelli, said you might need some help."

The diner proprietor inspected Artie thoroughly before snapping her fingers, "Ah yes Giovanni, such a dear, sweet little boy…a bit of a pussy, but still such a thoughtful young man, especially to send someone who appears to be a strong young man that eats his vegetables and I would hopefully assume, knows his way around a gun."

"So I've been told," Artie chuckled.

"I'll pay you a percentage for your service," she said making the money motion with her right hand, "Whatever package I deliver, I can give you five hundred dollars for every successful delivery."

"Hmm, well I do need the money," Artie said scratching his chin, only to receive a slap across the face from the much smaller woman.

"Don't sit there and ponder you asshole, just fucking say yes!" she screamed.

"Fine, you've got a deal," Artie said, wanting her to calm down as soon as possible. _"Now I know why she's in that therapy group. Why couldn't Gino have just partnered me up with someone who still thinks there's a monster under the bed?"_

"Very well then young man, I will be waiting in the car," Aunt Gracie said with a polite wave before disappearing out the back door.

"Sheesh!" the young man said aloud, _"What have I gotten myself into now? This is going to be like a bipolar version of 'Driving Miss Daisy.' Smooth going Gino, I'm so kicking your ass for this later."_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Is everything ready dear?" Aunt Gracie asked adjusting her rearview mirror.

"Sure is ma'am," Artie replied checking over the H&K MP5A3 he had been provided. In addition to the submachine gun, he was also given a Benelli M3 Super 90 shotgun, Desert Eagle magnum, some fragmentation grenades and a taser, in addition to a bullet proof vest to slip over his green polo shirt, some kneepads that went over his matching khakis and a pair of steel-toed boots for combative purposes.

_"She might be a bipolar bitch, but at least she knows how to pick the right hardware for a job like this," _Artie thought to himself as she started up her Dilettante hybrid, not the ideal kind of car for running from the cops or rival gangs.

_"Christ, I feel like I'm being driven to soccer practice in this thing," _he thought to himself as she switched over to the Symphony 104.1 station, prompting a loud groan from the hired gun.

"You better not be insulting such fine classical music, young man," the elderly woman spoke with an edge.

"No ma'am, stomach cramp," Artie groaned, wanting to prevent her transformation into her 'psychotic self.'

"Very well," she said pulling into traffic, "Now Arthur, tell me more about yourself. You have a wife?"

"Unfortunately not, I've been too busy with a lot of stuff in my life," Artie replied, "Besides, when most women find out you're a gangster they tend to avoid you like herpes."

"Now, now, no need to be such a gloomy gus," Aunt Gracie giggled as if she were talking to a toddler.

Already he was beginning to hate this woman and couldn't wait until this mission was over.

"Whatever you say ma'am," Artie replied with a roll of his eyes, only to find a gun pointed in his face a second later.

"Don't you back talk me young man! I have every nerve in my 'old ass' to put a bullet between those eyes of yours unless your worthless ass starts showing me the respect I deserve!" the old woman hollered.

"Alright, alright I get it!" Artie shouted back again raising his hands defensively into the air.

"So aside from Gino, do you have any other family members in the area? Anything else that brought you to this fine city in the first place?" Aunt Gracie asked resuming her 'normal, cheerful tone.'

"I have another cousin in the area yes," Artie replied, staring out the window at a small gaggle of hookers congregating on a nearby corner, "but he's not exactly anything to write home about. Gino, he's a piss poor pathological liar who claimed to own a trendy nightclub, which turned out to be the shithole dive bar I'm living above now. Donnie…well he's an alcoholic law school dropout who likes to fuck everything that moves and nearly got me killed a few nights ago."

"There, there dear Arthur, your life cannot be as bad as you make it out to be…" the drug dealing granny commented in a perky tone, until her gaze darkened within the next breath, "…until you've met my family."

"Okay, so where are these 'clients' of yours?" Artie asked as the nice clean hybrid car moved towards the Red Light District, receiving them a myriad of stares from the hookers, druggies and hobos populating the street.

"We're on our way to visit our first right now, a dear sweet little girl who has agreed to meet us behind the Horny Cougar," the elderly woman stated as she noticed a group of Redcoats walking towards her with bats held in plain sight. Not bothering to wait for the stoplight to turn green she sped through.

"With a location like that, of course she screams 'sweet and innocent.' I wonder if she'll offer us some Girl Scout cookies while we're at it," Artie sarcastically remarked.

The hired gun's snarky comment was ignored as the granny approached the aforementioned gentlemen's club and took a right into the side alley, where a scantily-clad woman waited for them, her beaten face heavily made up to disguise her bruising.

"Alright dear, now you just sit here and wait for Aunt Gracie to do her business. I should be back in no time," the woman ordered, again sounding as if she were talking to a small child.

_"Damn Artie, you've really gotta start learning how to say no when certain people will offer to pay you," _he told himself as Gracie approached her 'customer' and pulled out a small zip lock bag with her 'merchandise' inside.

"Alright Aunt Gracie, just give it to me!" the woman begged reaching anxiously for the bag, only to be met by the elderly dealer's Beretta M9.

"Now you know how I do business you little cunt," Aunt Gracie roared in her psychotic tone, "No money, no fix for you tonight! Now hand over the dough before I'm forced to use your sagging tits for target practice!"

Whimpering like a scolded dog the buyer reached into her purse and presented her payment with a shaking hand.

"See dear, now that wasn't so hard," the granny spoke, reverting to her friendlier tone, "Now you be a good little girl and make your money so I can come visit you again soon."

Aunt Gracie made her way back to the car and climbed inside, "Alright sonny, we've got two more stops and then it's back home we go. I made chili for tonight and you're more than welcome to join for a job well done," she said with a wink.

"No thanks, I already ate some of your delicious food from earlier thank you very much," Artie replied, wanting to get away from this crazy woman as soon as possible. _"I wonder what she puts into that chili anyway…" _he thought, remembering something he had seen in a horror movie years ago where a crazed restaurant owner similar to Aunt Gracie would murder his victims, dismember their bodies and then grind them up and serve them in his 'award winning chili.'

_"Knowing her that wouldn't surprise me at all," _Artie thought as she drove into Jansport, Hellcats territory.

"Okay, not to be a turd in your punchbowl or anything, but we are traveling into Hellcats territory. Do you really think you should be doing business here?" Artie asked watching as some of the aforementioned gang members made their rounds, including a small group of them smashing up a bakery.

"Awww…are you going to pussy out on me just like my faggot of a nephew?" the old granny snapped back, "Keep up your bitchin' and I'll be doing exactly to you what I did to that limp dicked faggot Tyrell! I'm paying you to be an escort, not some pussy liberal lecturer!"

The Dilettante pulled into the parking lot of the very Cluckin' Bell that Randy worked at and surely enough, a short Hispanic man in a cashier's outfit waited for the old granny.

"Hola Aunt Gracie, I have mucho dinero in exchange for some of your sweet juice, it's muy caliente!" the excited man spoke.

"I have everything here too Felipe, tell all the boys inside I said hi!" Aunt Gracie cooed as the man walked back inside, leaving Artie wondering as to how people could be working there again so fast after what had happened the other day.

He sat quietly in the car as the old crone counted through the stack of dollar bills she had just been handed, when he heard the rumble of a muscle car's engine and sat up darting his eyes back and forth when he spotted the last vehicle he had hoped for.

A tan Dukes with flame decals, the trademark vehicle of the Hellcats, came into view and he was able to see the vehicle's passenger pointing towards the deal that had just taken place.

"As if things couldn't get any worse," he said unfastening his seatbelt and stepping out of the car with his submachine gun ready.

The Dukes pulled up alongside Aunt Gracie and the passenger spoke up, "Excuse me ma'am, but can I ask what a nice little lady like you is doing out here all by yourself? This isn't a safe spot for old ladies y'know," he spoke in mock concern.

"Yeah, you're quite a ways from the retirement home over in Kirby, aren't you?" the driver asked, eliciting a chuckle from his passenger.

"Fuck off Bucko!" she snapped, "I have select clientele. You want some of this shit; you have to sign up like everybody else does!"

"Goddamn you woman!" Artie hissed.

Both doors flew open and the Hellcats emerged with machine pistols drawn.

"If you're gonna be talkin' like that to a Hellcat, then you'd best be ready to be shoppin' for your burial plot, old lady!" the driver spat.

"Not only that tea bag, we don't take very kindly to 'non-sanctioned' dealers slinging in our neck of the woods," the passenger added pointing his pistol at her forehead, "Hand over the profits and perhaps we might be nice enough to let you scream for mercy before we blow your fucking head off!"

"Why don't you suck a donkey's cock, faggot?" Aunt Gracie retorted, showing no apparent fear of her attackers.

"Okay, this has gone was too far," Artie said raising the MP5A3 and firing a three shot burst into the head of the thug holding Aunt Gracie at gunpoint.

"What the fuck?" the driver cried whirling around.

Before he could focus his aim on Artie, Aunt Gracie fired a lone round through the back of his skull.

"Cocksucker," she scoffed making her way back to the Dilettante, "Come along Arthur, we have one more stop to make."

"I gotta give it to you, you sure didn't let those Hellcats push you around," Artie complimented while buckling up.

"Trust me dear boy, when you've survived three failed marriages, sixteen piss ant kids stretching your clit to the size of the Grand Canyon, being kidnapped and sold into prostitution over in Kazakhstan, putting up with bitchy waitresses and other workers who wouldn't know the difference between their guns and their dicks, trust me you'll learn to be pretty fearless," the old woman replied.

The rear window exploded, causing both of them to jump.

"What the fuck?" Artie blurted out as the roar of a Dukes engine called out from behind.

Turning around he spotted two tan-colored Dukes hot on their trail, the passengers from both vehicles sticking their arms out the windows and firing away with machine pistols, riddling the car with bullets.

"More of those Hellcats," Artie shouted rolling down his window and sticking his upper torso out the window to return fire with his submachine gun.

"I have a rearview mirror, jackass," the old woman snapped, just a second before it was shot down and clattered to the vehicle's floor, "Damned pansy ass bitches!"

Artie exhaled deeply as he fired upon their pursuers, unable to get a clean shot at either vehicle's driver as the Dilettante swerved violently back and forth to avoid oncoming traffic.

"Kill them already, will ya'?" Aunt Gracie shouted as she attempted to listen to her classical music over the gunfire.

"I'd be able to if you weren't all over the place!" the gunman shouted back while loading a fresh clip into the MP5A3.

Sticking his upper half out of the passenger's window he again opened fire and managed to riddle the hood of the closest Dukes repeatedly until its hood loosened and black smoke began billowing out from underneath. Nevertheless, the muscle car continued its pursuit and the passenger continued to fire until Artie fired a burst that caught the gunman in the chest and sent him tumbling out of the moving car and hitting the pavement with a sickly splat, followed by him being run over by a Sweeper.

The hybrid car lurched violently as Aunt Gracie took an abrupt turn, creating enough space for Artie to strike the driver through the car's windshield and send it swerving out of control, right into a fire truck parked outside the Jansport fire station.

As soon as the first Dukes crashed there was another appearing from around a corner to join the other vehicle in the chase.

"How far away are we from the last customer?" Artie shouted before firing upon one of the pursuing vehicles.

"We're meeting them over in Stilsen behind the Pizza This…," the woman replied, sounding as if this were a pleasant drive in the country for her.

"Well you'd better hurry it up. I don't think this pussy car of yours is going to withstand much more punishment," Artie shouted as the hybrid car rocked while being rammed from behind by another Hellcat Dukes.

"How dare you insult my ride!" the granny roared reaching for her M9, only for it to clatter to the floor as the car was again rammed from behind.

Firing through the shattered rear window, Artie managed to take out the driver and the pursuing Dukes swerved to a halt, the other Hellcats vehicle clipping it as it attempted to continue the pursuit.

"I'd be more worried about making it to your next deal in one piece rather than me insulting your ride," the hired gun shouted back, again firing through the shattered rear window and peppering the Dukes behind them with hot, screaming lead until flames shot out from underneath the car's hood and the vehicle came to a halt, its occupants bailing out before it exploded seconds later.

Aunt Gracie ignored his comment and continued driving towards her final destination.

Keeping his eyes trained on the road behind them, Artie watched as another Dukes roared into view, sure to cause serious damage if it connected. Remembering the fragmentation grenades he had been provided with, he unclipped one and tossed it out the back window, watching as it rolled along the ground. His timing would be perfect, the grenade exploding just as the muscle car drove over it, flipping the burning husk into the air and sending it falling onto a vegetable stand.

It wasn't too long until the duo had made their way to Stilsen and the street they were on quickly became familiar to Artie, recognizing it from his travels with Iceman.

"Alright, we're getting close," Aunt Gracie reported as the aforementioned pizza parlor came into view.

More screeching tires and rumbling engines followed as they got closer and Artie turned to see three Hellcat Dukes speeding into view, followed by a tan Slamvan that had the Hellcats logo of the flaming tiger-like head on the side.

"More of those fuckers wanna join the party, huh?" Aunt Gracie asked.

"Never mind them, just get out and make your deal. I'll hold them off!" Artie ordered as the Dilettante came to a halt in front of Pizza This.

Leaping out of the vehicle, Artie provided cover fire for Aunt Gracie as she made her way into the alley. Once she disappeared from view he took cover behind a stone partition and checked his MP5A3 to make sure it was full.

"You're gonna pay for dealing on Hellcats' turf without our permission and pay even more for wasting some of our boys!" a Hellcat called out before opening fire.

Artie grimaced as little pebbles were chipped away from the partition and bounced off him at high speeds, stinging away at his exposed skin. He also had to resist the urge to gag as small clouds of dust flew into his opened eyes and mouth.

"You can't hide forever bitch!" one of the tan-clad thugs called out.

A low whoosh was heard, one that Artie recognized right away. "Oh shit!" he blurted aloud before pushing himself away from the partition. A second later, a Molotov cocktail struck the ground where he had been crouching.

"Take him down!" another Hellcat called out, followed by the multiple explosions of firearms discharging simultaneously.

Numerous tears were heard as the bullets ripped away at the hired gun's pants and shirt, just missing his skin by mere inches as he scurried along the outdoor dining area, using tables, chairs and whatever else he could hide behind as he waited for an opening to return fire upon his assailants.

Taking a couple deep breaths to suppress the bile building up in his throat he shot his arm up and fired a stream of hot lead blindly towards the attacking gang members, managing to take down one of the Hellcats and sending another stumbling backwards with a round to the shoulder. His counterattack did nothing to deter his assailants as they began attacking with more ferocity and it wasn't long before his submachine was clicking empty again.

At the same time his gun ran dry, he heard another sound he never thought he would be happy to hear.

More than one police siren blared from the distance and within seconds he was hearing the screeching of numerous pairs of tires.

"R.C.P.D., drop your weapons and put your hands in the air!" an unseen officer called out, only to be met by a barrage of gunfire.

Peeking his head up from underneath a table, Artie watched as the Hellcats turned their attention away from him to engage in an all-out battle with the police, a back and forth struggle that saw both sides incurring losses.

"Deal's done dear boy," a voice spoke from behind, causing the hired gun to nearly jump out of his skin.

Whirling around, Artie found Aunt Gracie standing behind him with her typical toothy grin, too out of place for a moment like this, "Now, shall we be moving?"

"Aunt Gracie, you're not in the back alley anymore!" Artie replied, in a mixture of surprise and joy, only to have her purse striking him upside the head.

"Of course I'm here instead of there, jackass! I might be old, but I'm not stupid! Now let's get out of here," the woman replied, just as her Dilettante blew up after all the punishment it had taken. "Aw damn it, that's the second car this month!"

"Guess we'll have to find another way home then," the errand boy replied, making his way over to a parked Peyote and smashing the driver's side window open with the butt of his shotgun. The battle with the cops had distracted their enemies long enough for both of them to safely climb inside and wait for Artie to finish hotwiring the car before it finally roared with life, Aunt Gracie wasting no time in switching the Rasta 106.9 reggae station back to her beloved classical music.

Slamming the gas pedal to the floor the car screeched loudly as it pulled away from the carnage, thankfully not attracting any attention from the nearby authorities. The hired gun kept his foot glued to the floor until the scene finally disappeared from his rearview mirror.

"That was close," Artie sighed as he slowed the car down to a legal speed.

"No fucking shit Sherlock, I saw that back there!" Aunt Gracie snapped back.

Not wanting to further agitate the volatile old woman, Artie kept all smart remarks to himself and continued driving until he reached the diner and pulled around to the back of the building.

"Very well done Arthur," Aunt Gracie spoke in her 'normal' tone as she stepped out of the car and offered him a roll of dollar bills, amounting to $1,500. "Now be a good boy and I trust I will be able to rely upon your help again in the future now, won't I?" she asked, giving him a sinister stare.

"Yeah sure," Artie grunted in disinterest, wanting to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. _"If I have to run any more errands for you in the future, I'll be sure to do them by myself!"_

"Very well then, run along dear boy!" Aunt Gracie spoke with a wave.

Not even bothering to reply he took off down the street, speeding away as if he were still being chased by the cops, only daring to slow down when the sanctuary of The Little Black Book came into sight and he pulled the car to a halt in front of the drug store next door, not worried by the prospect of the police coming to tow it away.

A cheery ringtone sounded from his cell phone as he stepped out and looked down to the ID screen to see a text message had come from Donnie. Groaning at the sight of his troublesome cousins' name, still he grudgingly read the text:

_"Cuz, its Donnie Boy, gimme a call sometime. You're missing out on all sorts of fun with this cold shoulder BS you're giving me. Talk to ya later," _and enclosed with the message was a picture, an up close shot of a woman's buttocks barely covered by a tiny G-string.

_"Well for once he was thinking of somebody else," _Artie thought entranced by the sight briefly before slapping his phone shut as he made his way to the stairs leading back to the apartment, until he was startled by the rattle of something metallic.

Whirling around with his gun raised, he found the old homeless hooker pushing a rusted old shopping cart into the alley. A yellowed grin greeted the young man as she turned to face him, unafraid of, or just completely unaware of the gun being pointed at her.

"Hey, I recognize ya'…yer that young fella' I was gonna suck off a while back!' she shouted in glee, saliva dribbling from the corner of her mouth.

"And you're the rancid old bitch I'm gonna put a bullet in if you don't start fucking leaving me alone!" Artie screamed running past her and sprinting up the stairs, struggling to slide his key into the keyhole and eagerly yanking the doorknob and pulling himself inside, locking it behind him.

_"One of these days I seriously need to kill that woman…no, that inhuman freak of nature!" _Artie thought while trying to calm himself, trying to think of something he could do to expel the images of that rancid old prostitute from his mind. _"The city health department would love me too," _he thought making his way over to Gino's favorite armchair and grabbing the remote, hoping some TV would make him think about other things.

_"And a nice, warm shower," _he thought, switching on the TV and being met by the images of an attractive brunette being railed from behind. Normally the sight of a naked woman would have aroused him, but after what he saw outside, sex was the absolute last thing on his mind.

Flipping to the next channel, he happened across 'Princess Robot Bubblegum,' but was again put off by the blatant over sexualized tone, especially because the sight of a being with a little girl's face and a DDD-sized chest almost made him feel like a pedophile.

Up next was 'Republican Space Rangers,' which made him feel like a bigot, given the not-so-subtle radical right-wing undertones.

He would flip through a few more channels before eventually happening across 'North Mountain,' a show which he hadn't seen in quite a while which detailed the misadventures of four foul-mouthed fifth graders.

_"Oh my god, you murdered Benny you sick bastard!" _shouted the series protagonist Dan Parch to the overweight, bigoted Derrick Fartman.

_"Bring it on you son of a bitch! I'll kick ya' hard in the balls!" _the chubby mama's boy shouted just before farting fire and a space ship shooting out of his ass and kidnapping their Jewish friend Miles Witkovski.

"Don't get much quality programming like this anymore," Artie laughed to himself as he finally began to sit back and relax after a long day's work.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Alright, I have an entire shitload of references to other games and parodies in this chapter.

This mission was largely inspired by the 'Drug Trafficking' missions from the "Saints Row" series, especially with how you ride along with the dealer instead of driving yourself and how you have to protect them all throughout the deal while they're being shot at by rival gangs and cops. I would also have it where Artie does for Aunt Gracie similar to the 'Drug Dealing' odd jobs that Niko does for Little Jacob in GTA4.

"Warped Steel" is a spoof of "Twisted Metal" and I might make further references to that in future chapters where it also borrows elements from "Professor Genki's Super Ethical Reality Climax" as seen in "Saints Row: The Third."

Magic & Monsters is a parody of "Dungeons & Dragons" and Spartan Condoms are a spoof of Trojan Condoms and also the scene with that E-Z Mart cashier's Arabic dialect sounding 'rather cartoonish in nature' is a reference to Apu from "The Simpsons," although he is Indian and this guy was Arabic.

The Whiteskins MC will be an outlaw motorcycle group encountered later on in the story and they are a play on the Aryan Brotherhood and could also in some senses be a reference to the Imperial Klans of America.

"North Mountain" is a spoof of "South Park" and the scene with Derrick Fartman farting fire and a space ship coming out is inspired by the very first episode.

Dianne Cooter is a spoof of Ann Coulter (or as I like to call her 'Man Cunter') and the scene where she is interviewing Mayor Walker is a nod to the opening of "Saints Row 2" where Dane Vogel is being interviewed on that daytime talk show and the audience booing whenever anything is mentioned about the liberal politicians.

Ron Walker himself is a spoof of right-wing politicians here in Wisconsin, his name being a combination of Senator Ron Johnson and Governor (it seriously pains me to call him that) Scott Walker, both of whom are right-wing douchebags whom I seriously cannot stand, especially the latter with his anti-worker policies that are basically tearing my state apart. The mention of him stripping union workers of their collective bargaining rights is a nod to what Walker has done here in real life, and why I'm so hopeful his bitch ass gets recalled soon.

The LaFollette district over on Jefferson Vale would be intended to be the most liberal district in all of Rushmore City, named after an early 20th century progressive politician from Wisconsin named Robert M. "Fighting Bob" LaFollette, who is one of few Republican politicians whom I do show some form of respect for and I know deep down he would throw up if he could see what our state has become today.

The scene with that one overzealous audience member is inspired by how I see all those pictures on Facebook of the Tea Partiers running around in those goofy Colonial-era costumes and how they're always holding up signs with their words misspelled; you will find a whole bunch of that shit on Facebook.

'Crackster' is a spoof of 'Napster.'

If I had to physically base Aunt Gracie off of anybody I would base her off of Rosemary Harris, the old lady who plays Aunt May in the Spiderman trilogy (huge Spiderman geek here! \m/).

Well I think that covers everything pretty much so until then read and review as always! This is your friendly neighborhood Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	10. Cab Wars

Chapter 10: Cab Wars

Artie was jarred awake by a loud banging on the apartment door, kicking off a blanket that had been placed over him.

"Artie open up, it's Zeke!" he heard the bartender calling from outside.

It suddenly hit the errand boy that he had fallen asleep in the recliner and was still clad in the same tattered clothes he had worn yesterday.

"Just a second!" he called back making his way over to the door and unlocking it.

Zeke stood before him with his opened laptop in hand and pushed his way inside, "Dude, you've gotta check this out!"

"Check what out?" Artie asked, annoyed by the way his friend had just barged in like that, "And it had better be damned good for you to be waking me up like that."

"Dude please, I already have to put up with my boss being a liar. I shouldn't have to put up with his cousin bitching like my mother on her period," Zeke called back placing his laptop on the coffee table.

"Heh, very funny," Artie grunted making his way over to take a seat next to Zeke on the foldout bed, "What's this I need to be checking out?"

Zeke fiddled around with the computer's touchpad and brought up a window on Craplist, which itself displayed a bright yellow and black logo.

"The Freeman Cab Company, huh?" Artie said glancing at the online classified ad, "Sorry but if you're trying to help convince me get a job then in this case I have to say no. I was a cabbie for a time back in Liberty and it's the worst job I ever had, almost got me killed once too. Besides, I doubt I should be anywhere near a cab after what happened when I arrived here to begin with."

Zeke rolled his eyes, "Dude, if you would actually take the time to read the ad in its _entirety_ you see that it's not for a driving position, in fact it wasn't even posted by the company itself, but rather some guy offering twenty-thousand dollars for a one-time gig."

"Come again?" Artie asked, pushing his friend aside to inspect the ad a little more carefully.

"It's from some guy at 'Tennyson Productions.' He's looking to cast somebody for a reality television show pilot. He wants someone who has a valid driver's license, knows their way around firearms and is good looking, not trying to sound gay on the last part, but I'd say you fall under all three categories Artie, plus like the ad says, it's a paying job, one that could help keep this bar afloat and at least keep the loan sharks at bay for a little while," Zeke explained.

"Hmph, you do make a good point there. They say anything else?" Artie asked.

"Yeah, you have until 1 p.m. to get there," Zeke replied.

"What time is it right now?" Artie asked, noting the batteries on the wall clock were dead and the time was forever left at 9:45 p.m.

"It's almost 11:30 and it's over in Komojack Downs. It's not far; you should still have plenty of time to make it," Zeke said writing down the cab company's address and handing it to Artie.

"Alright, I'll look into it and thanks," Artie said rising to his feet and walking over to the bathroom.

"No problemo!" Zeke called out before exiting.

Artie stripped off his clothes and took a quick shower, now with hot water thanks to his recent jobs helping pay for some of the building's utilities. He then got out and brushed his teeth and spritzed on a quick shot of cologne, given no time to shave. Once he dried off he pulled on a pair of black jeans and a white ProLaps t-shirt, figuring this would be a place where he wouldn't have to be dressed like a fancy businessman.

_"Must not be too fancy if they're going to be shooting a reality TV series at a cab company of all places," _Artie thought to himself strapping on his holster and sliding in his Glock before making his way outside on a nice sunny day, as nice and sunny as things could be in an industrial shithole.

"Now, what will be my flavor of the day?" Artie asked himself as he looked around for any approaching cars, finding traffic surprisingly intermittent for this time of day.

A Sabre GT was passing by, but it was followed closely by a squad car. Not in the mood for pissing off the cops, he waited until they got out of sight and then spotted bright red Stallion pulling up. Drawing his pistol he stepped into the street and raised his gun.

"Out of the car now!" he shouted, but the driver saw the gun and freaked out, stepping on the gas and nearly running him over. The hitman leapt out of the way and hit the pavement hard.

"Goddamn it," he grunted in frustration before a light blue '98 Exsess pulled into view and was starting to slow down when its driver spotted him lying on the pavement. _"Hmm, maybe this won't be so hard after all," _he thought while staying where he was, pretending to be injured.

An auburn-haired woman got out and carefully approached him, "Oh my god, are you alright sir?"

"Ugh…some jackass hit me and took off running," Artie grunted in reply, trying to sound as hurt as possible.

"Hold on, I'm going to call an ambulance!" she said reaching into her coat pocket for a cell phone.

"No don't! I'll be alright!" Artie said raising his hand and then pushing himself to his feet.

"Sir don't! You shouldn't be overexerting yourself! Let me help you!" she said rushing over and grabbing him by the arm to help him up.

"Really ma'am this isn't necessary," he said as she helped him up, "I'm fine," he whispered to her and with those words, shoved her down to the pavement and bolted over to the waiting car.

"Worked like a charm," he said to himself flooring the gas pedal as the woman screamed out for help behind him. She had the radio set to The Traveler 107 world music channel, which was playing "Only Time" by Enya.

"I need something a little more fast-paced, especially if this is gonna be something involving guns," Artie said switching the radio station over to the Rewind FM retro pop station, which was currently playing "In a Big Country" by Big Country.

"Good enough for now," he said to himself, happy to find a song he hadn't heard in a while.

Komojack Downs was just north of the Harbor district and one of the territories controlled by the Hellcats and the thought of a gang again made his mind flash back to him being caught in the middle of that bloody skirmish between the Aces and the Redcoats when he first arrived.

A four-way intersection led Artie into Komojack Downs, where he again carefully scanned his surroundings when coming to the first stoplight. On both sides he noticed members of the Hellcats walking around and one rushing over to jack a bright red Oracle that had come to a stop at his left. The scene left him with his hand on the Glock's handle, hopeful there were no survivors who would have recognized him after what happened last night.

When the light turned green he quickly got the hell out of there.

The Komojack Downs district was another very blue collar area, also housing a smaller Ammu-Nation gun store, a couple fast food joints, some liquor stores, a bail bonds office, a few gas stations, a sporting goods store, a Suburban clothing store and the Haulin' Ass Towing Service. There was even a police substation located within the district, where a few officers stood around chatting amongst themselves, completely ignoring their duty to 'serve and protect,' adding a shadier vibe to the neighborhood.

It was when he took a right past the substation that he spotted a bright yellow building that had the classic black and white checkered stripe one would typically find on an older taxi model, making it stand out like a sore thumb next to all the small distribution warehouses surrounding it. A billboard on the roof told him it was the place he was looking for, the one and only Freeman Cab Co., with a cluster of bullet holes stitched across it.

"They sure know how to make their possible new employees feel welcome," Artie whispered to himself as he slowly pulled into the depot's parking lot, where several cabs had been parked haphazardly and a few employees were standing around on their lunch and cigarette breaks.

Walking inside, the reception area looked like your typical small business set up with the ratty old benches, tables covered in outdated magazines, a few vending machines, a coffee machine and the reception desk, where a middle-aged blonde-haired lady with her hair worn in a beehive hairdo and green-rimmed glasses sat with her nose buried in a 'Persons' gossip magazine, the radio within reach for any calls that would come through.

She looked up upon hearing the door open and greeted Artie with a thick East Coast accent, "Hi there and welcome to the Freeman Cab Company. May I help you with something sir?"

"Yes, I'm here regarding a classified ad from Craplist regarding the 'reality star' deal or whatever it's supposed to be," Artie replied, trying to remain as polite as possible.

"Ah yes, glad to see somebody's interested. Mr. Freeman tried putting it in the paper a few days back and his 'partner' was getting anxious after nobody answered. We have a very high turnover rate here, good help is just hard to come by these days," the receptionist explained reaching over to push a button the nearby speaker phone, "Excuse me Mr. Freeman, but we've got an applicant for that project of Mr. Tennyson's."

_"Really? Well send him in then-" _a creaky voice replied, only to be silenced a second later by a thick British accent.

_"Ms. Koppitz, before sending him in please tell me, do you think he looks like he would fit the part I specifically asked for? Please, I don't want another boorish vagrant to come stumbling through the door. It would truly be most dreadful."_

The receptionist, identified by a sign as 'Trudy,' adjusted her glasses and carefully looked the applicant over, "Well if you ask me I think he seems pretty normal. At least he smells like he took a shower this morning."

_"Well it could be a start, please do send him in," _the Brit replied.

_"Anybody help me!" _a frantic voice called over the radio, _"This is Gordy and I'm being attacked by some of those Borgnine bastards-" _just as the transmission was cut off by a gunshot.

"Oops, not like you needed to be hearing that," Trudy giggled nervously reaching over to switch the radio off.

"Are you sure you don't need anything else from me, like any kind of driving credentials or need me to fill out an application or something?" Artie asked looking out the front window and noticing a company cab swerving into the lot, its driver falling out of the driver's side and struggling back to his feet, an obvious sign he had been intoxicated.

"Honey, with what we've been going through lately, we need all the help we can get," Trudy replied, hints of nervousness creeping into her typically casual tone, "but you'd better be getting back there right now. This Mr. Tennyson fellow isn't somebody you like to keep waiting, says it really 'ruins his aura' or some hokey far Eastern mysticism shit like that. Anyways, Mr. Freeman's office is down at the very end of the hall, you can't miss it."

"Thanks," Artie replied with a polite nod making his way down to the hall, knocking on the door.

"Come in!" the creaky voice called out.

Artie had to struggle with the door and grunted loudly before finally getting enough room to squeeze himself inside.

The small office was a complete mess with tons of papers, empty food wrappers and emptied alcohol bottles covering the floor.

There were three other people in the confined space. At the desk was the owner, his plaque identifying him as 'Lloyd Freeman,' a gaunt, pale-faced man with thinning black hair worn in a comb over that poorly disguised his baldness. His bright green eyes were sunken and bloodshot and the bags underneath suggested he probably hadn't slept in days.

A half-consumed bottle of whiskey and half-consumed line of cocaine on a Burger Shot wrapper rested on the desk before him, along with a sawed-off shotgun resting on the shelf behind him.

_"Man, something's seriously got this poor guy spooked to high heaven," _the young man thought before turning his attention to the other men.

The first man in complete contrast to the owner had a full head of blond hair, healthy tan and bright blue eyes, along with a smile that seemed to glimmer under the bright lights. He wore a beige sport coat with a teal turtleneck underneath and had several pricy rings on his fingers.

Standing next to him was a young man wearing a turned around baseball cap and tan vest with a camera perched on his shoulder and a laptop computer on the shelf behind him, the camera's live feed broadcasted on it.

"Hello, I'm here about the ad posted on ," Artie spoke to the man at the desk.

The owner's ears perked up at the mention and he fumbled to clean up his mess, "Ah yes, yes! Please, do have a seat Mister?"

"Cappelli, Artie Cappelli," he replied, reaching out to shake the man's bony hand.

"Ah, then you would be the fellow here to partake in my project," the blond-haired man spoke in a thick British accent before extending his hand, "I am Solomon Horatio Ignatius Tennyson."

"Pleasure to meet you and what exactly is your role here, Mr. Tennyson?" Artie asked looking back and forth between him and the owner.

"Mr. Tennyson and I are collaborating on a reality television project, aimed at helping drum up interest in the Freeman Cab Company," Mr. Freeman spoke up before looking over to the cameraman to make sure the feed was live before continuing his pitch.

"This is a family-owned business mind you, going all the way back to my grandfather, the first cab driver in all of Rushmore City, who back then had to drive his tractor around with a trailer attached to it. Come rain, nor sleet, nor hellfire and brimstone, he did whatever he could to get the people to where they needed to be," he explained, producing a black and white photograph of a hillbilly in bib overalls on the aforementioned trailer, a cow in its trailer.

"Given our proud tradition we understandably hold up a high standard for all of our workers," Mr. Freeman explained when Trudy buzzed in from the front desk.

"_Mr. Freeman, we have a situation…or situations I should say," _she called out, her tone causing the proprietor's face to sink even further, _"I just got a call from Percy over at the police station. He's been picked up for getting into a fight with a customer and then resisting arrest. Not only that, we've got Angus out front stumbling around drunk off his ass and Gordy just got blasted by some of those Borgnine bastards."_

"Damn it!" Freeman grunted, slamming his fists down onto the desk before noticing Artie was still sitting before him and quickly composed himself, only to fail miserably.

"Okay, I won't lie to you, things have been an absolute fucking mess around here lately kid," he said anxiously rubbing his running nose, "Those bastards from Borgnine Cabs have set up shop here in Rushmore City and since day one they've made no bones at all about trying to run me outta business."

"Obviously not," Artie said taking note of the man's agitation.

"My business is taking a shit because of those sons of bitches and I get people either dumping me because they're too scared or dying on me because of those fucks and that 'manifest destiny' imperialism crap their fuckhead of an owner preaches," the man rambled as he stood up to pace, but abruptly stopped himself when he noticed the camera was still on, "Oh shit, you can edit that all out can't you?"

"Why bother Mr. Freeman? What you've just described thoroughly illustrates the drama caused by a brewing 'cab war' between the Freeman Cab Company and Borgnine Cabs, it would make an excellent backdrop for some absolutely smashing nighttime television," Tennyson chimed almost giddily.

"Look kid, this business is all I have left and I need to keep it afloat or else I'm a goner! I need this project to take off and I need someone I can actually freaking rely upon and none of the yahoos I have right now can cut the mustard, which is why I need outside help. This is where you come into play!" Freeman said pointing to him before turning to the cameraman, "Make sure the part where I call my employees 'yahoos' is edited out."

"Well I do need the money because my cousin needs help keeping his own business afloat, guess it's back to the cab driving world for me…for the time being at least," Artie said shrugging his shoulders.

Lloyd Freeman looked to the sky and clasped his hands together as if thanking the higher power he believed in and then grabbed onto Artie's shoulders shaking him excitedly.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You're doing me a great favor kid and trust me that you won't go unrewarded! You just do whatever you can to help us get as many customers as possible."

"I'll do whatever I can," Artie nodded.

"Thank you Mr. Freeman, I will be taking things over from here," Solomon said walking over to Artie and placing a hand on his shoulder, "Mr. Cappelli, keep in mind you're not going to be just driving around passengers when we are shooting this pilot."

"What do you mean?" he asked as Mr. Freeman began sniggering mischievously in the background.

"You're gonna be doing whatever you can to help this show get ratings," the ghoulish man spoke up, "I honestly don't give a fuck if you have to kill those scumbags or blow up any of their cabs if you find them getting in your way. It's not like those cocksuckers haven't done that to me enough already."

"Precisely," Solomon continued, "Violence equals drama and drama equals ratings."

"Okay, and just who are you shooting this series for?" Artie asked looking awkwardly towards the cameraman.

The corner of Solomon's mouth jutted to the side as he looked back to his unnamed cameraman and later to Mr. Freeman, "To tell you the truth, nobody just yet, that's why I need this to start out with a bang so that networks will get looking at us."

The mention of that left the crotchety owner scrambling for a straw so he could finish up the rest of his cocaine line.

Reaching on the same shelf as the laptop, Solomon grabbed an earpiece and handed it to Artie, "Here's what will happen, I will be using this earpiece to give you directions as I watch your progress from this laptop. Kevin will be riding along with you to record everything as it happens."

"And here," Freeman said reaching into his desk drawer and grabbing a set of keys, "You'll need these. We have a car waiting for you with a radio that'll keep you in touch with Trudy and also don't tell anybody else, but there's a sawed-off shotgun and some Molotovs there in case things get too hairy."

A knock at the door distracted the four men and they turned to see Trudy pushing her way in with a large box in hand, wrapped up like a Christmas present with a big red bow on it.

"Mr. Freeman, this package was just left for you on the front doorstep, there was a note with instructions saying it was to be given to you right away," the receptionist explained.

"Very well," Freeman said accepting the package and ripping it open, only to leap back in horror a second later, "What the mother fuck?"

Inside the box was the severed head of a bald African-American male with a thick beard and mustache, a note shoved into his mouth reading _'HA HA!'_

"Those sons of bitches fucking killed Dwight!" the proprietor screamed, grabbing his bottle of whiskey and gulping down the rest of it in one drawn out chug.

"Quick, are you getting that on camera?" Solomon shouted to his cameraman, "Oh boy, I can tell this is going to get me on the map! Soon Vinewood will be calling my name!" the aspiring producer said rubbing his hands together and licking his lips while Artie looked towards the man in disgust.

"What the fuck are you doing still standing around here kid? Get out there and do your fucking job!" Freeman snapped before tossing his emptied bottle to the floor.

"Guess we'll be on our way then," Artie spoke to Kevin the cameraman while putting on the earpiece given to him as they made their way to the garage, where a cab waited for them.

"_Alright rookie, we're getting a call from over on Hedgepeth St., so hop to it," _Trudy buzzed over the radio.

Artie grabbed the transceiver and spoke into it, "That's an affirmative. I'm on it!"

"_Alright Arthur, you're going to be on national television. Tell the viewers a little more about yourself, say anything you want," _Solomon called out over the earpiece.

"Well there really isn't much to say about me," Artie spoke into the camera while maneuvering around some messily parked cabs and to avoid the drunk cabbie passed out on the tarmac, "I'm just a simple working man who used to drive a cab up in Liberty…until some asshole mobster from the Pavano family tried to blow my fucking head off."

"_Must you be so vague in your personal descriptions?" _Solomon spoke.

"Jesus, what more could you fucking want? I'm just here for the money you know," Artie retorted, not even bothering to sugarcoat things for the annoying would-be producer.

"_If you fuck this up for my company just remember I'm gonna be using your balls for fishing bait," _Freeman cut in.

"Yeah, sure thing," Artie grunted as he made his way over to Hedgepeth, where a smartly-dressed man in a blue suit and matching fedora waited outside a coffee shop.

"Take me to the Well Hung meat packing plant over on Wilberforce. I have urgent business to attend to," the man spoke, saying nothing more as he fastened his seatbelt.

"With pleasure sir," Artie replied with a smirk, _"I think I know what kind of 'business' you have in mind," _he thought to himself, remembering where he found Glenn Borker meeting up with that prostitute.

Fortunately the meat packing plant wasn't too far away and they were there within minutes, the entire ride passing in silence and ending with a $20 fare for the new cabbie.

"Piece of cake," Artie spoke to the camera as he made his way back into a more populated area, only to be waved over by a trio of Hispanic men wearing puffy jackets and plenty of blinged out jewelry.

"Hey yo', take us over to Woody's Topless Bar and Buffet in Red Light," ordered the last guy to climb in, a man wearing shades and a red and black jacket.

"Sure thing," Artie said typing the destination into the meter and proceeding towards the district, the three of them rambling on the entire time about which dancer they were hoping to score with during their stay there. Normally Artie would have chipped in his own two cents, but right now he focused solely on the job at hand.

The drive to the Red Light District had been much longer than anticipated, given the volume of traffic for this time of day and knowing his overzealous passengers would start complaining, he pulled out of his lane and ran through two red lights before finally pulling up to the club.

"Aw'right, we appreciate it ese, keep it real," the shades-wearing man said paying their fare, which came out to $37.

"_Alright Arthur, you really need to step it up with these next few fares. Remember the people watching back home don't just want to watch somebody usher patrons around. Get some more colorful characters on there, converse with your passengers more, encourage them to carry out ridiculous sexual acts on each other…anything that will keep the viewers awake throughout the show!" _Solomon called out.

"Yeah, sure thing," Artie said looking over to Kevin before spotting a hipster wearing headphones waving him over.

"_No not him, he's too average-looking," _Solomon called out, prompting Artie to drive past him, _"Give your next ride to those two out in front of Madame de Sade's House of Iniquity!"_

Artie looked over to see a man in a leather gimp outfit and another individual of an indeterminate gender wearing a blue gorilla costume in front of the old Victorian-style mansion turned S&M club. He honked the horn and they came running to him.

"Take us to 1276 Winchester Dr. over in Pinecone Grove on Jefferson Vale," the person in the gorilla costume spoke in an effeminate male lisp, "and hop to it silly buns, Mr. Palmieri doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Sure thing," Artie said typing their destination into the meter and beginning his drive, "So what business do you two have over at Mr. Palmieri's place?" he asked, trying to make conversation with them as Solomon instructed.

"Oh we're going to be in one of his films," the gimp replied.

"Really, is he some kind of actor or something?" Artie asked coming to a red light.

"Don't cha' know who Mr. Palmieri is?" the blue gorilla asked him.

"Um no, I'm afraid not…should I know who he is?" he asked while looking over to Kevin, who face palmed.

"Luco 'the Rod' Palmieri is the biggest porn star in all of Rushmore City!" the gimp gave a muffled shout, "And when I say he's the 'biggest' he literally is…you should see it."

"Um, is that something I really want to be seeing?" Artie asked starting to feel disgusted.

"Rent 'Bukkake Warrior 4' and watch his money shot all over Harry Peters, looks like he's taking it from an elephant he's so huge!" the gorilla man cried out excitedly, prompting Artie to suddenly feel sick to his stomach.

"Okay, I don't think a majority of your viewing audience is gonna wanna hear that," Artie whispered hoping Solomon would hear him.

"Oh my goodness, I can't wait to meet him again! Aw rats, I forgot to bring my dildo along so he could sign it for my mother!" the gimp shouted, forcing Artie to wince and nearly drive into the back of a Yosemite.

"Say you're quite a good looking fellow," the gorilla chimed in, "I'm sure Luco could use some extras!"

Again Artie found himself nearly wanting to vomit, "Uh thanks, but I'm afraid I don't swing that way!" he replied speeding up the cab and taking an abrupt right, nearly clipping a streetlight.

"But you could have so much potential!" the gimp replied, "Nobody said I could ever make it and look at me now."

"I'd rather not," Artie replied turning on the ramp to Jefferson Vale.

Eventually the cab would reach Pinecone Grove, another wealthy neighborhood dominated by mansions and high-rise condos. It wasn't long before he pulled onto Winchester Drive and pulled up in front of a two story house with several Stretch limousines parked out front.

"We're here!" the gorilla called out, "Say mister, why don't you come in with us? Luco's always serving hot coffee at this time of day."

"Thanks, but I'll pass, now please just pay up," Artie sighed.

"Ah, don't be such party poopers," the gimp said leaning towards him before the hitman grabbed the sawed-off and shoved it in his face.

"Your fare, pay up now!" Artie demanded.

Shrugging his shoulders the gimp paid $40 for the ride and as soon as that was done Artie was about to speed away, when both back doors flew open and a naked couple leapt in.

"Please sir, you need to get us over to the Montezuma Hotel in Cuba Norte pronto!" the man said, "And you need to hurry, some dipshit paparazzo is chasing after us!"

"_Take them Arthur, a little sex and a possible high speed chase never hurt anyone," _Solomon called out.

"Sure thing," the rookie cabbie nodded.

"Turn on some 'sex music' too," the brunette woman ordered.

"Uh, yeah whatever you say," Artie said turning the cab's radio over to the Smooth 88.9 jazz station, currently playing a piece by Maceo Parker.

"Oh shit, here they come now!" the man shouted as a black news van came charging towards them, belonging to RCNN-13.

"Worry about them later honey," the woman said laying back on the backseat.

"Oh yeah, where were we?" the redheaded man replied before mounting the woman.

"_I wonder what the hell RCNN-13 would want with these two," _Artie thought to himself speeding the cab up as the couple resumed their sexual escapade, Kevin filming the entire encounter.

Artie sped around a winding turn, where immediately he would find two more black news vans forming a roadblock.

"_What the fuck do they want with these people?" _he wondered as he was forced to drive on the grass to avoid the makeshift barricade, photographers getting out snapping pictures.

"Since when the fuck does that asshole have friends?" the man called out while turning the woman over to fuck her doggy style.

"Just worry about fucking me baby!" the woman called out in ecstasy, her tits pressing against the glass and causing a nearby skateboarder to collide with a mailbox.

Artie jammed the gas pedal to the floor and went flying off a small hill like he was in a Vinewood car chase, the persistent paparazzi chasing him onto the grass.

"Yahoo!" the man cried out as the woman was now riding him reverse cowgirl, Artie nearly pitching a tent as he watched her boobs bouncing in the rearview mirror, so distracted he nearly ran over a Well Stacked Pizza deliveryman riding on a Faggio.

Another black van came charging over the hill towards the taxi, but Artie managed to swerve around it and reached for a Molotov cocktail, "Here, light this up!" he said handing it to Kevin.

"No prob boss, Solomon might give you a bonus for this," the cameraman said pulling out a lighter and igniting the cloth before handing it back to the errand boy.

Rolling down his window Artie chucked the makeshift explosive behind him and watched in the rearview mirror as the van was caught in the blaze and crashed into a nearby tool shed.

"Hell yeah," the man shouted as he had rolled the woman onto her side and was spooning with her.

"Oh god yes! Fuck me baby! Fuck me hard! Fuck me like the stallion you are that my husband isn't!" the nameless woman shouted.

Artie was fast approaching the bridge leading back to Lincoln Island, where two more news vans formed a barricade with photographers outside snapping pictures.

"Hold on tight, this is gonna get messy!" Artie said gunning the engine.

"Uh, I think it's already about to get messy in the backseat," Kevin said as the couple was now in the middle of 69-ing.

His knuckles white in an iron grip, the hitman sped head on towards the news vans and a loud crash resounded as he plowed through the barricade.

"Man and I thought the pigs were bad," Artie laughed speeding down the bridge, the couples' moans of ecstasy becoming deafening.

"Oh my god! Oh my god! Do it baby! Do it!" the woman shouted as the cab pulled into Cuba Norte, a district dominated by small shops, bars, restaurants and hotels. It wasn't long before the taxi was pulling up to a light pink building with 'Montezuma Hotel' in a red, white and green paint scheme.

The naked couple climbed out of the backseat, the woman's chest now covered in the man's 'baby gravy.'

"Here, keep the change for a job well done!" the redheaded man said offering Artie a one-hundred dollar bill.

No sooner than the naked couple's exit, two more men were throwing themselves into the cab's backseat, both of them carrying bags full of cash and both of them wearing the trademark tan jackets of the Hellcats!

"Get us over to the sawmill in Jansport and step on it!" one of the thugs shouted, pointing a MAC-10 in Artie's face.

"_Drama Arthur, compelling television…bigger payday Arthur," _Solomon called out over the earpiece.

"You got it," Artie said pulling a U-turn and proceeding towards Jansport.

"Ooh, are we going to be on TV?" the other thug, a dopey-looking individual in a black beanie, asked before waving to the camera, "Hi mom!" he shouted, only to be pistol-whipped by his partner.

"You make sure our faces are blurred out if this makes it onto national television!" the gun-wielding thug shouted to Kevin.

"Okay, just please don't kill me. I really don't wanna die a virgin!" the cameraman yelped, prompting a snicker from Artie.

It wasn't too long before the hired gun was pulling into the Jansport district and came to a halt outside the sawmill.

"Okay, you guys are gonna pay up now aren't you?" Artie called out to the two robbers.

"Man fuck you bitch!" the gunman shouted and squeezed the trigger, only to be rewarded with a click.

"You see pal, you have a gun that doesn't work, but I do!" Artie said producing the sawed-off and pointing it at the two men. "Now you owe me ten dollars for this ride and you'd better pay up because I'm not a fucking charity case!"

"Pay the man Cliffy!" the gunman shouted to his partner.

"Why me?" the beanie-wearing thug protested, only to receive another harsh pistol whip, the only motivation he needed to reach into his pocket and produce the needed ten dollar bill.

"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Artie mockingly asked before taking off.

"_Bravo Arthur! Bravo! You keep that up you could have the makings of an action hero…being directed and produced by yours truly of course," _Solomon called out.

The next few fares would be from random people hailing him as he passed by and taking them to random locations, including a nun who wanted to be dropped off at The Little Black Book of all places, some geek dressed like a swordsman from "Magic and Monsters" who wanted to be dropped off at Grand Imperial Dragon Comics over in LaFollette, some granny who wanted to be dropped off at Colt's Ammu-Nation store to purchase an RPG launcher, a guy with a blow up doll whom he believed to be his 'wife' that wanted to be dropped off at Montebello's in Emerald Hill for their 'anniversary,' and others who wanted to be dropped off at one of the bars or adult bookstores around Camden Heights, Aunt Gracie's Corner Diner, beauty parlors, pawn shops and the whole works.

Artie was just dropping off a passenger outside a Thai restaurant in Horgate when a call came over his radio.

"_Any available units report," _Trudy called out over the radio, sounding like a police dispatcher, _"We've just gotten a call from Otis. He's been carjacked and he's over on Scarper Ave. in front of the Higher Learning smoke shop. He needs somebody to pick him up and get him back to the depot right away. Any takers?'_

According to his map he was only two blocks away, meaning he could pick him up and still be able to continue about on his routine. "I'm nearby, I can pick him up," Artie said into the receiver.

"_Good showing Arthur, really display the closeness shown by Freeman employees. Show the world how you are as unified as any major army out there," _Solomon chimed.

"_Except I don't actually work for these guys," _Artie thought making his way over to Scarper Ave. where he found Otis, an overweight dark-haired man inhaling two hotdogs at once outside the smoke shop. Artie honked his horn and without missing a beat, the carjacked cabbie made his way over to the safety of his fellow company cab.

"Man, that was some messed up shit," Otis bellowed in a high nasally tone the second he climbed into the cab. "Just get me back to the depot before some other dipshit comes along and tries stealing my sneakers, my mother got those for me for my birthday."

"No problem," Artie replied stepping on the gas, wanting to get out of there before anybody could try hailing him.

"So you're the new guy, huh?" Otis asked looking Artie up and down, "Not trying to sound gay or anything, but you look too nice to be working for Mr. Freeman."

"Not the first time I've gotten that today, but thanks…I think," Artie sardonically quipped.

"Well it's nice to meet you, but I probably shouldn't get too attached to you. With as fucked up as this city is, you might be driving this cab one day and riding in the back of a hearse the next. I used to be a security guard at a top secret government research facility where it was like that," Otis said, paling when he realized he was being videotaped, "Uh, you can edit everything out that I just said, right?"

"Well that's a charming thought, totally brightens my day," Artie chuckled bitterly as he pulled up to the cab depot.

"Well welcome aboard otherwise," Otis said climbing out, "I oughta' have you over for Bridge sometime."

Artie didn't reply and looked down to his gas meter, thinking to himself he should stop somewhere and fill up.

Not too far away there was a DP gas station and he pulled up to one of the pumps. Going through the usual routine of selecting what type of gas he wanted and to pay at the pump or inside, he went through his selections and stood around idly as he waited for the pump to start filling.

"So you been following Tennyson around for quite a while now?" he asked Kevin, who was currently in the middle of reviewing his footage.

"I just started not too long ago," the young cameraman replied, "I'm fresh outta film school and looking for my big break. Solomon's alright for the most part, but he does get a little 'out there' with some of his ideas."

"Heh, you're telling me," Artie scoffed.

"Hey, gotta start somewhere-" Kevin was speaking until his eyes widened and Artie turned to see what he was looking at.

A red cab pulled up alongside him and right away he noticed the bloodied spikes protruding from the front and then he looked at the driver and saw the mirrored shades he wore. Right away he recognized it as the same guy he saw at the E-Z Mart yesterday.

"Well, well, well, looks like you're one of those Freeman bitches, huh?" the man chuckled in cocksure fashion while adjusting his shades, "Too bad you're gonna be going outta business pretty soon," he laughed harshly.

"Heh, I've heard you Borgnine losers talk a big game, bet you couldn't back it up on your best day," Artie retorted just as the pump click dry to signal his tank was full.

"_What the hell am I saying? I've only been working with these guys as part of that reality TV project, not like I have any business getting caught up in this little blood feud of theirs. Guess he can't be talking too much of a game if he's got bloody freaking spikes on his front bumper," _Artie told himself staring towards the aforementioned protrusions.

"Really, well do you think a 'loser' can do this to your sorry punk ass?" the man asked pulling out a Desert Eagle.

"Oh shit!" Artie blurted as the man took aim and opened fire, striking his driver's side rearview mirror, missing him just as he rolled around to the front of the car and ducked down behind it. _"Nice going jackass," _he mentally scolded himself.

The Borgnine cabbie stepped out of his car and fired again, his bullet sailing over Artie's head and striking the side of the gas station. "That's right Freeman bitch, your back's against the wall and soon your brains are gonna be decorating that wall!" he laughed before firing again.

"Fuck," Artie muttered to himself as another round pinged off the cab's hood. He was pinned down and reached for his Glock, only to find it wasn't in its holster, "What the fuck?" he whispered. The sawed-off and Molotovs provided for him were inside the cab and there was no time to reach for either. He would have to find some other way to take the guy down.

"It's just a matter of time little boy! You're only delaying the inevitable!" the rival cabbie continued firing more shots upon his covered target, "If I can't blow your fuckin' head off then I'm just gonna blow your worthless cab up with you near it!"

"And risk blowing BOTH of us up? We are near gas pumps you know, you jackass!" Artie shouted back as he noticed the smoke billowing up from beneath the loosened hood. _"Think Artie! Think goddamn you! You can't let this madman win!"_

As if fate had intervened in his favor, the Borgnine cabbie's gun clicked dry and fumbled through his pockets for any spare clips. Due to this critical error, he was forced to reach back into his taxi for any spare ammo, creating the much needed opening for Artie to make his move.

Pushing himself back to his feet, Artie rounded the rival cab and charged head on at the man, extending his leg outward and kicking the man's door into him, sandwiching his arm.

"And you thought us 'Freeman bitches' were losers, well you're obviously a bunch of fucking idiots!" Artie spat as the man screamed in pain. He wasted no time pummeling the rival cabbie furiously for his attack, striking the man repeatedly until he was coughing up blood.

"Time to finish this," Artie muttered reaching into his cab and pulling out the sawed-off shotgun, squeezing the trigger and obliterating the rival cabbie's head in a shower of blood and bone.

"_Marvelous! Just marvelous Mr. Cappelli!" _Solomon called out excitedly, _"The viewers are going to eat this up!"_

"Are you that fucking sick?" the hitman asked.

"_Arthur, please remember what I said earlier, violence equals drama, drama equals ratings! Do you honestly think the people just want to see you driving around giving people rides and helping old ladies across the street? No! They want blood and you're giving them plenty!" _the producer cried out excitedly.

"Fucking bastard," Artie grumbled as he prepared to climb back into his cab, only to have another voice interrupt him.

"_Uh sir…you are going to pay for your gas aren't you?" _the station's clerk called out over the loudspeaker.

Shrugging in reply, Artie fired his remaining shell into the speaker before driving off.

Looking down at the digital clock, it was fast approaching the early evening hours and it would soon be time to turn in.

"Get some grub…get a shower…play some games…get some sleep," Artie was in the middle of reciting his post-work plans until another call from Trudy came in.

"_Okay boys, we're getting another call and we need somebody to get there right away. We got any takers? Apparently it's some poor bastard on the run from a pissed off ex-wife and he's promising a big tip at the end. He wants whoever's picking him up to meet him behind the Lava Lounge over in Gomorrah," _Trudy reported before calling out to him specifically, _"Hey new kid, why don't you go and get it? Think of this as your chance to prove yourself."_

Artie sighed loudly, but then remembered Solomon would likely be barking in his ear for him to take it, hoping it could lead to another 'ratings increase' as he puts it.

"Fine, I'll do it," he grunted loudly into the receiver and stomped on the gas pedal, struggling to contain his rage as he nearly ran over a shopkeeper sweeping off his sidewalk. Nearly being killed by a rival company's driver hadn't exactly done wonders for his mood and at this point he just wanted the day to be over with.

He sped over to Washington Dell weaving in and out of traffic, earning his fair share of angry honks and obscenities as he made his way over to the Gomorrah district, a very high-end district of luxury hotels, casinos and a boardwalk, where he could also spot a pirate ship in the distance.

"_Whoever this punk is he had better damn well pay me a damned good tip!" _Artie thought as he approached a dark purple building covered in blue, green and orange neon lights with a large lava lamp atop the building with a long line at the entrance.

He took a right and pulled into the side alley, where he spotted a balding man in a red and white windbreaker waiting for him. Pulling to a stop he honked the horn and the man slowly approached, looking around nervously before climbing into the backseat.

"Alright mister, where to?" Artie asked preparing to shift the car into reverse.

"Well, there are many places I'd like to go to sir…right after you're dead!" the passenger shouted before drawing a Desert Eagle.

"Shit!" Artie blurted out as he and Kevin ducked a shot that ripped through his seat's headrest and took out the windshield.

Lowering himself to the floor he grabbed the sawed-off and pointed it upward, firing a round of buckshot tearing holes through the taxi's roof, but missing his assailant. He fired again, this time splattering blood onto him and his cameraman as the attacker cried out in pain.

"You fucking piece of shit!" Artie roared pulling out his Glock and firing an entire clip's worth of shots into the suffering attacker, the rounds ripping through his backseat and splattering more blood all over the interior.

Gagging violently, Artie kicked his door open and leapt outside wanting to run over and vomit into the nearest trashcan, until he heard the revving of more than one engine.

"Now what?" he asked, only to grow pale upon spotting two Borgnine Cabs charging towards him from opposite directions.

"It's an ambush motherfucker!" a driver cackled before pulling out an Uzi and spraying a volley of rounds in Artie's direction.

The Freeman driver was forced to roll for cover behind his cab, more bullets pinging off its surface.

"_Kevin, are you getting this recorded?" _Solomon called out.

"I'm trying to boss!" the cameraman shouted back while struggling to get the camera pointed in a spot where it wouldn't be shot out from his hands.

"_Don't be trying, get it goddamn it!"_

"Freeman Cabs is history!" a Borgnine attacker called out.

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Artie shouted back, peeking around his cab to see two more red taxis pulling into view and boxing him in, making sure he wouldn't be able to run anywhere.

There was no other choice but to stay and fight. The Molotov cocktails were still inside his cab and were inches away from his reach, but first he would have to create enough space for him to get inside.

Pointing his shotgun's barrel around the cab he fired blindly towards his attackers, scoring two direct hits upon the closest taxi and puncturing its front driver's side tire and shattering its windows. Quickly reloading, he fired again upon the same cab and now had smoke billowing out from beneath its hood. Reaching into his pockets several times, Artie continued firing wildly until he was certain all of his attackers were seeking shelter and then reached around to grab the Molotovs.

Another wave of gunfire pelted away at the taxi's surface as Artie once again took cover behind it. Flicking on the lighter he was provided, he lit the oily rag and waited for the fuse to burn down a ways before he tossed it over his parked vehicle.

"Oh shit, run!" one of the attackers called out.

The shatter of glass resounded, followed by the shrieks of a man caught ablaze. Peeking over his hood, Artie could see a man thrashing about wildly and his compatriots scampering away to avoid a similar fate.

Rising to his feet, the young man brought up the sawed-off shotgun and dropped a rival cabbie who attempted to flee towards one of the cars blocking the alley and then caught another attacker in the lower back as he tried taking off, severely injured and left to writhe on the ground in pain, and leading him to be set ablaze as his burning colleague tripped over him.

"Fuck this shit! I'm outta here!" the last rival cabbie called out, scampering towards the other Borgnine cab waiting at the opposite end of the alley.

"_Oh no you don't fuckhead!" _Artie thought readying another Molotov cocktail and pulling out his lighter. With all the might he could muster, he tossed the incendiary device towards the fleeing man. The bottle struck the cab just as the assailant was climbing in, the flames catching his clothing and quickly immolating him whole, his deafening screams echoing throughout the alley until the fire moved to the vehicle's gas tank and the car was swallowed up in a ball of reddish-orange fury.

"Now to get the hell outta here," Artie said climbing into the cab and pushing the Borgnine vehicle out of the way, speeding off down the street as more sirens sounded in the distance.

When he had managed to get a safe distance away from the scene of the failed ambush he pulled out his receiver and called the depot, "That 'big fare' you promised turned out to be a fucking ambush!" Artie hollered, not bothering to hide his rage.

Rather than hearing the voice of Trudy he was met by Lloyd Freeman himself.

"_Trudy gimme that," _he was heard ordering before speaking up, _"What? What the hell are you talking about Cappelli?"_

"It was the Borgnines, those bastards set us up! That last call turned out to be from one of their workers and four of them tried to kill me behind the Lava Lounge," Artie reported.

Frustrated grunts, followed by the smashing of several objects sounded before Freeman's enraged voice called out, _"Those fucking rat bastards! This is a new low even for those pricks! Just get your ass back here to the depot at once. If those bastards want a war, then they've damned sure got themselves one!"_

Solomon then chipped in his two cents, _"Wow Mr. Cappelli, that was absolutely most splendid with the way you handled yourself back there. You sure were stacking those corpses as if it were Judgment Day!"_

Artie growled in frustration and spoke into the receiver, "Solomon you sick fuck, or should I call you 'Shit' seeing as that's what your initials spell out? I nearly got myself fucking killed back there all because you wanted some goddamned fucking ratings! How the fuck do you even fucking sleep at night when you've got people putting their lives on the line for shit like this? Pun intended when I say 'shit!'"

Solomon simply chuckled at the outburst, _"Mr. Cappelli, I have learned under the best and you don't learn how to be great by having workers in a studio in front of a blue screen fighting each other with plastic swords and makeup. I'm trying to put the 'reality' back into 'reality television.' Say what you will, but we all have our methods my good man. You have yours and I have mine, simple as that dear boy!"_

"_Goddamn it I'm so going to have to punch that fucker when I get back," _Artie grunted to himself as he drove back to Komojack Downs in blissful silence.

All of the other Freeman employees stood around staring silently in awe as Artie drove his shot up cab into the garage, unable to believe it could still even run after all the damage it had taken from the Borgnine ambush.

Stepping out of the cab, Artie slammed the door shut behind him, only to have the front bumper clatter noisily to the concrete.

Hearing the commotion, Lloyd Freeman and Solomon came rushing into the garage and gasped aloud as they took in the damage inflicted.

"Those damned sons of bitches!" Freeman shouted grabbing a toolbox and flinging it as far across the room as he could.

"See, I told you they weren't fucking around," Artie replied as he noticed the proprietor on the verge of hyperventilating. He was about to reach for a paper bag to give the man to breathe into, but another employee was already on hand with one and yet another was there to push a swivel chair for him to collapse into.

"For twenty years I've run this company…twenty long fucking years…" Freeman trailed on before taking some deep breaths, "…and those bastards…wanna topple me like I'm some kind of…fucking dictator. What the fuck did I ever do to them…to make them hate me so much?"

"Musta' done something a long time ago Mr. F," Trudy said entering the room and offering him a fresh cup of coffee.

"You're a lotta help," Freeman sarcastically grunted as both of them looked into the cab's blood-drenched backseat, where the shot up corpse of the Borgnine cabbie still rested, flies already swarming around his rotting carcass. "Christ, even the Nazis weren't this hard on my pops when he was storming the beaches of Normandy!"

"Well whatever the case is, these guys are out for blood and I don't think they're just going to sit around and let you ignore them," Artie spoke with his arms crossed.

"Damn right they're not," Mr. Freeman said standing up and tossing his Styrofoam cup aside, "They're going to stay on me like herpes until I'm six feet under…and even then they'll wanna dig up my rotting carcass and commit all sorts of necrophilia on it…not unless I send them there first!"

The company's proprietor stood underneath an overhead light at an angle so only his most prominent features could be seen from the shadows, giving him an eerie partially obscured look that looked like it belonged in some late night horror flick, emphasizing his darkening mood.

"A war is coming and whatever those pricks throw at me, I'll be ready for them…even if I have to personally strangle every one of those fucks with my bare hands!" Lloyd Freeman declared, wiggling his fingers like a vampire lurking in the shadows would, "For now though, we have to take things one day at a time."

"Ooh, Mr. Freeman, if you could would you please be kind of enough to say that from the beginning? I don't think Kevin had the chance to record it," Solomon said shoving his cameraman in front of the creepy old man.

"Alright, I did your job for you now I believe you owe me some money," Artie said getting into the producer's face.

"Very well, I am a man of my word," Solomon said reaching into his coat pocket and producing a check in the amount of twenty-thousand dollars as promised, "The networks are going to love you and will be clamoring for more of you to grace their TV screens if you keep that up-"

"Yeah, yeah whatever," Artie said pushing his way past the wannabe producer until Freeman called out.

"Hey, wait up kid," he said offering an envelope carrying $1,500 in cold hard cash, "It's not as much as what he's giving you, but it's for a job well done. I'm glad to see at least somebody managed to take down those rat bastards at their own game. I have to applaud anybody who can survive that kind of bullshit. I'm indebted to you for this and any time you need some extra cash feel free to stop by and I'll be willing to help!"

"Alright Mr. Freeman, I thank you very much. I'd love to stay and chat, but I've gotta find some way to get home now," Artie spoke to find the Exsess he arrived in was now missing.

"I'll have one of the boys take you home. The ride is on me, like I said I owe you one after what you did for me," Freeman said pulling out his cell phone and dialing a number as he made his way back into the garage, ordering his mechanics to get to work making the cab good as new.

Within minutes a cab was there to take Artie back to his place.

"Take me to The Little Black Book over in Camden Heights," he said climbing into the backseat.

"You're the boss," the cabbie replied.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: When I decided to rewrite this chapter I tried to combine elements of the cabbie side missions from GTA and Saints Row 2, as well as the 'Escort' and 'Ho-Ing' diversions from the latter. Me making this mission based on a reality TV show was inspired by 'Fuzz' from Saints Row 2, which totally pissed me off that they didn't include it in the third game because that was the side mission which turned SR2 into 'love at first sight for me.'

Nonetheless, this is another chapter down so until then read and review as always! This is your friendly neighborhood Metal Harbinger telling you to SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	11. Bad Mother Trucker

Author's Note: In the original "Capitol City" I had it where there was a minor character named Dwight, who was another driver with Freeman Cabs and I had a 'random encounter' mission where Artie had to help him get his cab back later on and that was the last we heard of him before I decided to discontinue the story. What happened with him having his severed head sent to Mr. Freeman was what would have eventually happened to him in the original story. I just needed to get that out of the way before I went any further.

Chapter 11: Bad Mother Trucker

"Oh c'mon Artie, you're playing this on the 'Easy' difficulty and I could still whoop your ass in my sleep!" Zeke shouted as he entered the guitar solo of Metallica's "Trapped under Ice," his fingers flying along the neck of his Gibson Flying V-shaped controller with the grace of a master.

Artie only offered a frustrated grunt as he struggled to depress the buttons on the controller's neck while at the same time attempting to fiddle with the whammy bar, hoping to score some much needed points and to get the virtual crowd to stop booing the Viking-like guitarist he played as.

It wasn't long before the song ended and _'PLAYER 1 ROCKS THE WORLD!' _flashed across the screen.

"Oh fucking yes! Who's the man? Once again I've schooled your sorry ass," Zeke screamed falling to his knees and pumping his fists in the air like he had just won the Ultra Bowl. "Suck on that noob!" he said making the 'crotch chop' motion towards Artie.

"Heh, I might be a 'noob,' but just remember I'm capable of kicking ass in the real world!" Artie shot back removing his guitar controller and reaching down for a fresh slice of pizza.

It had been two days since he participated in that reality TV project for Solomon and was looking to unwind with the rare free time he was granted and in turn, business was slow in the bar so he decided to join Zeke for a round of games in his makeshift apartment, ordering pizza from the nearby Pizza This.

The storage room easily had to be the largest room in the entire building with enough space for storing the bar's supplies and enough room for Zeke to live comfortably, space for him to have a decent-sized television, couch, recliner, one-person bed and a desk with his laptop resting on it, as well as a small bathroom off to the side with a washer and dryer in it.

"Whatever you say," Zeke nonchalantly chuckled as he collapsed onto the couch and grabbed a breadstick, "Whine all you want, but admit it that there's something you _can't_ kick my ass in for once. Just goes to what happens when you take on the master."

"Okay, I think I've had enough of 'Metal God' for now," Artie said going through some games lying out on the coffee table before him, "Why don't we play a round of 'Tools of Bloodshed.' I'm getting now so I can take down those Daktarian slimebags in the prison camp stage without losing a single life."

"Nah, I pulled an all-nighter with that last night," Zeke said grabbing another cartridge, "How about 'Full Blown Chaos?' I'm so close to taking down the Montesi family."

"As fun as it is pretending to take down some major crime family and blasting the pigs, that's only a one player game," Artie replied pulling out another game, "Besides, I like 'Sinners' Junction' better, especially those side missions where spoof 'Pigs,' doesn't get much better than that."

"Guess that rules out 'Epic' and 'Gold Road Retribution' then," Zeke added before grabbing another one, "How about 'Super Road Brawler Omega 3?'"

"Nah, I can never memorize all those buttons you've gotta push at once for the special moves," Artie grumbled before finding another cartridge in the stack, "How about 'R.S.W.A.: Unleashed?'" he suggested.

"Hey yeah," Zeke smiled, "I wanna try out that 'Flying Scotsman' I created on the 'Make-a-Player' option."

"That and I'm guessing you're looking to get a boner over that Princess Wildfyre and those fake tits of hers," Artie chuckled before taking another bite of his current slice.

Zeke froze in place with his finger pointed towards his friend, his mouth opened for a silent scream that never occurred.

"Yeah, I remember alright," Artie continued as his voice changed to mimic Zeke's tone, "Oh Princess Wildfyre, you're so fine! Oh what I would do to you if I could get you outta that tight pink outfit and see what's beneath those comets!"

Before Zeke could yell at the hitman his "Cowboys from Hell" ringtone sounded and he quickly wiped the grease off his fingers to answer the phone, "Iceman, what's up?" he asked before speaking again, "Yeah, he's here with me right now, why?"

Artie cocked an eyebrow to the bartender, knowing he was talking about him. "No, I don't think he has anything planned for the rest of the day, especially after the shit that weird metrosexual British director guy put him through," Zeke replied before looking back to him, "Yeah, I'll see to it he gets over there soon. Rock on brother," he said switching his phone off.

"What's up?" the hired gun asked, knowing without a doubt he was just whored out for another job spur of the moment.

"Iceman says he needs to see you right away. He's over at The Bloody Prick tattoo parlor in Stilsen, and he says to bring some firepower along," Zeke replied slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"Heh, looks like we're gonna be busting some heads then," Artie said rising to his feet, "Oh well, I could use another workout. Wonder who we're going after today, did he say?"

"Nope, but I'd stop flapping my gums and get my ass over there if I were you," Zeke replied switching off the GBOX 720 and flipping on the "Criminal Justice" TV series he liked to watch.

"Fine, talk to you later," Artie said making his way into the vacant bar and then made his way up to the apartment, where he decided to go heavier and grabbed the Desert Eagle, Benelli M4 Super 90 and the H&K MP5A3 from his makeshift cache in the closet. Knowing this would involve shooting; he strapped on the Kevlar vest and as an afterthought put on the kneepads and steel-toed shoes provided for him by Aunt Gracie. It had been another sunny day and he picked up a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses purchased from the Victim over in Blue Hook.

"I'll be there," he said looking into the mirror, quoting Jack Howitzer's most famous line from his 'Annihilator' series, before making his way outside and looking around for a vehicle to hijack.

The hired gun was sizing up a gunmetal gray Cavalcade when a familiar bright red cab pulled into view.

"Well whatta ya' know," Artie whispered to himself with an evil smirk as he saw a Borgnine taxi coming down the street, its driver a Dominican man in a bright orange sun hat who was bopping his head along to Lil' Wayne's "Got Money."

"Time for karma to be the bitch that it is," he whispered as the car slowed down and ran around the back, ripping the door open and grabbing the driver by the neck, slamming the door against his skull before pulling him out and tossing him to the concrete, adding an additional stomp before departing.

"Heh, Borgnine bitch," he said switching the radio from Total 101.9 to Rock of Rushmore 89.5, currently playing "Hole in the Sky" by Black Sabbath. The driver left a fanny pack on the dashboard that was carrying $650 and had an extra Desert Eagle with some spare clips, indeed a good find for the errand boy as he made his way over to the Stilsen district.

The Bloody Prick was a small building jammed between a Dip n' Lube auto parts store and the Dye Hard art supply store, its windows covered by designs and had heavy metal blaring from within, the kind of place he would expect to find Iceman hanging out.

"Hey Artie, c'mon in brother," Iceman called out, in the middle of having work done on his left shoulder by a heavily-tattooed bald guy with nearly every exposed inch of skin (minus his face) covered in ink. "We're almost finished here so take a seat until Ant here finishes up."

"Sure thing," the hired gun replied taking a seat behind them to see the tattoo artist filling in a green portion on what appeared to be a large dragon design.

"So what's on the agenda today?" Artie asked just as a young man walked in, wearing a black leather vest with spikes, tattered blue jeans, a red t-shirt with the anarchy symbol and a belt made of spent bullet casings, his dyed green hair worn in liberty spikes.

"Oh hey Sid," Iceman spoke to the young man, "Artie, this is Sid, one of my employees. He's gonna be helping us out today."

"Hey man," Sid said with a wave and the hired gun nodded.

"We're gonna be doing something for my brother, but he didn't say what. He just wants us to get over to his garage right away and said he'll give us the lowdown over there," the weapons dealer responded.

"Gotcha'," Artie nodded while observing some elaborate dragon designs along the wall.

He waited for a few more minutes before Ant spoke up, "Alright Iceman, gotcha done. Just don't let the air get to that for a few hours."

"Hell yeah, looks pretty badass as always. Better wrap it up then," the smuggler replied and his artist nodded, wrapping an ace bandage around his shoulder before paying Ant and the trio made their way outside.

"So does your own brother always keep you in the dark like that?" Artie asked as they made their way over to Iceman's Patriot.

"Sometimes Ratchet likes to surprise people," the smuggler replied, "even his own family members," he said switching the SUV on, immediately blasting "Dead to Rights" by DevilDriver and nearly deafening his friend in the process.

The trip took the trio over to Horgate and they were soon pulling up to a tan-colored building called 'Ratchet's Auto Repair and Customizations' with the front half of an '84 Stallion sticking out beneath the logo. Several cars were parked out front ranging from old beaters looking to be on their last legs to high end sports cars that almost looked brand spanking new.

"This is the place," Iceman said climbing out, making his way inside while Artie took the time to admire a bright red Pegassi '09 Infernus, thus earning him an elbow to the ribs from Sid.

"Watch it kid," Artie warned before making his way into the garage.

The spacious garage had six hydraulic lifts, all of which were occupied by cars being worked on by mechanics in soiled blue jumpers. It was towards the back of the room Iceman spotted a guy working on a Phobos VT, who at the same time bopped his head along with "Uncle Tom's Cabin" by Warrant playing on the nearby radio.

"Ratchet!" Iceman called out making his way over to his brother.

"Oh, hey!" the mechanic called back, turning down his radio as his older brother approached and reaching for a nearby cloth to wipe his hands.

Ratchet was roughly the same height as his brother, but was much leaner in build and had short, lighter auburn hair, currently covered by a turned around Statesmen baseball cap. He also had a distinctive skull and crossbones-style tattoo on his left forearm, but with the crossed bones replaced by wrenches.

"Artie, Sid, this is my brother Ratchet," Iceman said motioning to his friends, "Bro' these are some good guys who are gonna be helping out today with that job you mentioned."

"Oh yeah that," Ratchet said motioning for the three men to follow him into the nearby break room, where three more guys in soiled blue jumpers waited. Locking the door behind them the mechanic made his way to a large round table where he took a seat and pulled out a map.

"Alright here's the scoop, according to one of my sources those trust fund baby Preps are expecting a shipment of high-performance sports cars to come in from Union City via the Arness Expressway over in Roosevelt Hills-" Ratchet began before Artie cut in.

"Wait a minute, I thought this entire city was under lockdown after what happened over at Churchill International," the errand boy said cocking an eyebrow.

"Like the saying goes 'money talks and bullshit walks,' these Prep losers have parents rolling around in money. I doubt even a federal blockade would be safe when they're throwing unlimited funds at the apes standing guard," Ratchet replied before returning his attention to the map, "Anyways, the shipment is expected to be coming in via the Arness Expressway and knowing them, they're no doubt gonna have some kind of security escort. I need you guys to take out the security detail and get the shipment over here pronto, and I also need the cars undamaged so don't get too wild out there."

"What do you plan on doing with the cars once we get them here?" Iceman asked.

"Let's just say Boomer has his own ideas for them," Ratchet smirked towards his brother, referring to a mutual friend they shared who happened to be an expert on all things explosive.

"Gotcha, so how much are you paying for this job?" the smuggler inquired.

"Ten thousand dollars for each of you," Ratchet replied.

"Well what are we sitting around waiting for? Let's get to it," said one of the mechanics, a guy identified as 'Glenn.'

The six men rose to their feet and made their way outside, Iceman and Sid climbing into his Patriot, while Artie and the three mechanics climbed into a waiting Cavalcade FXT, the errand boy taking the wheel.

"You'd better not fuck this up. I got three kids back home to feed," Glenn said switching the truck's radio Rock of Rushmore 89.5, playing "Stranglehold" by Ted Nugent.

"Don't worry, I don't plan on it," Artie replied as he pulled out and began following after the silver Patriot.

"Well if you were brought in by Iceman then you must know your way around something," one of the mechanics from the back spoke up gathering the ammo for his FN P90, "He's pretty good at getting guys who have their shit together. He hasn't let us down yet."

Aside from the submachine gun, the other mechanic in the backseat was making a last minute inspection of a Ruger AC556F assault rifle, while Glenn had packed a Russian-made Saiga-12 combat shotgun. For a couple of grease monkeys they were packing heavy heat and he was left to wonder if these guys were hired guns on the side just like him. As long as they knew what they were doing that would be all that mattered he thought as he followed Iceman down another highway and towards an off ramp leading to Roosevelt Hills.

Gone was the urban sprawl and Artie found himself surrounded by vast fields of miscellaneous farmland, evergreen forests and quaint hamlets in the distance, including a few 'hole in the wall' dive bars, log cabins and a few farms.

"Alright kid, we're coming up on the Arness Expressway so keep your eyes open," Glenn ordered readying the Saiga-12 and scanning every winding turn the truck made, his trigger finger so itchy he jumped as they passed a harmless-looking farmer on a tractor.

Artie felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and turned the radio down before reaching for it, seeing that it was Iceman.

_"Artie, get your ass ready to fight. I see the shipment and it's being escorted by the fucking Whiteskins!" _the weapons dealer shouted over his phone just before gunshots rang out.

"Get ready guys. We're there!" Artie shouted speeding up to find Iceman's Patriot charging head on towards a Phantom pulling a trailer full of luxury sports cars, being escorted by two black Patriots and several bikers on Hellfury choppers, all of them opening fire upon the incoming smuggler and his associate.

The mechanic in the back armed with the FN P90 stuck himself out the window and opened fire, only to take a barrage of Uzi rounds to the chest and go clattering to the concrete.

"Motherfucker!" Glenn shouted, "Stop the fucking truck now!" he screamed opening his door before Artie could bring the Cavalcade FXT to a full stop. Like a man possessed the mechanic leapt out and fired away with the semi-automatic shotgun, managing to catch one of the bikers and send the man flying, his unmanned Hellfury speeding off a nearby hill and clattering down the rocky ledge.

Artie drew the MP5A3 and took cover behind his opened door, firing a barrage at another biker and striking his front tire, sending the man tumbling forward and being crushed by his own motorcycle.

Iceman and Sid remained inside the Patriot and crushed a biker who had stopped to open fire and then rammed head on into an enemy SUV that had skidded to a halt, sandwiching a Whiteskin who hadn't been fast enough to escape.

Slamming on the brakes, Iceman and Sid both jumped out of the vehicle guns blazing, the gun runner armed with an AKM and his employee wielding an H&K G36. Their combined force cut down the occupants of the first rival Patriot in one fell swoop, but the bikers in the other SUV had been more persistent and forced the duo to take cover behind their own vehicle.

Artie meanwhile had no time to reload after the MP5A3's clip ran dry and he was forced to withdraw his Benelli, firing a blast that caught a bulky man in his lower abdomen and sent him tumbling to the tarmac with a sack of potatoes. Readjusting his sights he fired upon a tall muscular man and caught the man in his kneecap, yet somehow the stubborn biker managed to keep firing his Uzi until he was dropped by a salvo from the other mechanic's Ruger.

"Quick, get the truck!" Glenn called out dropping two more bikers with repeated blasts from his Saiga-12, only to be cut down by a flurry of automatic rounds from an RPK light machinegun carried by the Phantom's passenger.

"Bastard!" the remaining mechanic shouted as he fired wildly with the Ruger, until the rifle jammed and he too would be cut down by a barrage to the chest.

Artie was forced to leap over the guard railing as the RPK's rounds shredded through the pickup truck and it was only a matter of seconds before flames were shooting out from beneath the hood, followed by an explosion that sent several already dead bodies flinging through the air.

"Gonna die motherfucker!" he heard a voice call out and his eyes widened in horror as a pipe bomb landed at his feet.

"Fuck," Artie muttered to himself as he was sent rolling down the side of the grassy embankment to avoid the blast, his Benelli flying into a nearby stream. The relentless bikers continued to fire away as he lay on the ground, their bullets ripping through the earth surrounding him and sending tiny pebbles pinging against him as their rounds chipped away at the boulders.

Iceman had managed to sneak up on one of the bikers firing at his friend, grabbing the man from behind and using him as a human shield while he fired away with his AKM, cutting down two Whiteskins and sending another scampering for cover in front of the semi.

"No don't!" he heard the biker cry out as his buddies opened fire, ridding his chest and stomach with rounds as Iceman retreated backward, tossing his body aside as he was able to take cover behind one of the Patriots.

Sid meanwhile was struggling against the remaining bikers, his clip running dry and struggling to find adequate cover, not wanting any of the cars on the trailer damaged. He eventually found himself leaping over the opposite guard rail, a round grazing his side as he was airborne.

Artie had regained his senses and climbed the hillside, pulling out his Desert Eagle as the remaining bikers came into view and he took aim, catching one of the men in the lower back and another in the kidney before their friend could turn around, only to have Iceman jump him from behind and drive his KA-BAR into the man's throat.

"Shit, there's more of them coming!" the gun runner called out, hearing the roar of motorcycle engines in the distance and looking over to see more Whiteskins descending a nearby hill, "Artie, you drive the truck, we'll cover you!" he called out as Sid made his way over the nearby guard rail clutching his bleeding side.

"Got it," Artie nodded running towards the truck and scooping up the now deceased passenger's RPK, climbing into the Phantom through the passenger's side and finding the frightened driver still cowering inside. "Get the fuck out!" he screamed punching the man in the face and sending him falling out onto the pavement, grabbing the door and slamming it shut before shifting the truck into drive.

He looked into the rearview mirror to see a convoy of motorcycles approaching and could see Iceman swerving the Patriot back and forth, doing whatever he could to cut them off as Sid tried desperately to drop them with the H&K G36.

"Fucking kill them already!" Iceman shouted as he swerved to avoid the remnants of an overturned Hellfury as Winds of Plague's "Soldiers of Doomsday" blasted over the Patriot's radio.

"I could if you would fucking keep it still!" Sid screamed back while struggling to reload.

"Well that's kind of fucking hard to do when you're trying to avoid having your tires shot out from under you and not getting your fucking head blown off in the process!" Iceman hollered back, firing rounds from his Colt Anaconda towards a biker that had pulled up alongside him, managing to hit the Hellfury's passenger as the driver reached for a TEC-9.

"Fucking die you pussy bitch!" the man screamed.

Seeing what the biker was about to attempt, Iceman jerked the wheel to his left, throwing off Sid's aim and causing him to nearly drop his rifle out the window as the smuggler successfully managed to ram the biker and send him skidding to the pavement.

"You fucking jackass!" Sid screamed back as another bullet grazed his arm.

"Is that any way to talk to the man trying to save your scrawny bitch ass?" Iceman retorted looking ahead to check up on Artie's progress, his eyes widening when he saw what awaited his friend.

It was proving to be a Herculean task for the hitman to keep the semi and its load under control as he traveled down the expressway at a dangerous speed, obliterating a Walton pickup that had crossed his path from a nearby dirt road and running a tractor off the highway as he struggled to slow down.

"Goddamn it, this is the last time I ever drive one of these fucking things!" he shouted in frustration as he passed a rod and gun club, where several rednecks looked on passively not wanting to get involved.

He looked into the rearview mirror again to see Iceman and Sid still struggling to hold off the attacking bikers, so distracted he forgot about the turn in front of him and slammed the brakes and jerked the wheel to his right, the trailer nearly jackknifing behind him.

"Damn it!" he shouted as he struggled to straighten out the truck, looking ahead to see two more Patriots forming a roadblock and several more Whiteskins present with assault rifles and submachine guns, including one who was hoisting an RPG-7 onto his shoulder.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Artie repeated to himself as he could feel his heart racing while the other bikers opened fire, riddling the truck with bullets. The RPK rested on the seat next to him, but he didn't have time to reach for it. All he could really think of right now was keeping his foot on the gas, hoping the biker with the RPG-7 wouldn't be stupid enough to try firing if he knew him and his buddies would be caught in the blast radius if he got too close.

Indeed it could have been a wise move as the man was seen lowering the rocket launcher and scrambling to get out of the way, but Artie would not be deterred at this point and kept the pedal to the floor, sniggering dementedly as he accelerated towards the roadblock, watching as many of the other bikers were beginning to follow suit.

With a deafening crash Artie plowed the Phantom through the parked SUVs and managed to run over more than one of the waiting bikers. He looked in his rearview mirror again to see Iceman and Sid managing to take down several more of the Whiteskins, including the punk carrying the rocket launcher much to the hitman's relief.

Seeing no more bikers ahead of him and no other obstacles to slow him down Artie punched the gas pedal and sped down the freeway towards the Lincoln Island ramp, focused on getting the shipment back to Ratchet while all the cars (to his knowledge) were still in one piece.

He finally began slowing down as the familiar skyline of Lincoln Island came back into view and he looked back to see it was only Iceman following after him, the Whiteskins having vanished from view.

It wasn't long before Artie was pulling up to Ratchet's garage in the Horgate district and he pulled into the adjoining lot, shaking the shards of broken glass off of him as he exited the cab and Iceman's Patriot pulled up alongside him.

"You gonna be alright, kid?" Iceman asked as his employee emerged from the passenger seat, blood covering his side and one of his arms.

"I'll manage," Sid said grabbing a bandana and pressing it against the tear on his arm.

"Well you'd better get your ass over and get it looked at right away," Iceman ordered, "I'll make sure you get your reward for this job. Just get going."

"Fine," Sid nodded before running over and smashing the driver's side window of a parked Sunrise and climbing inside, hotwiring the car and taking off.

Ratchet soon emerged from the garage and inspected the cars over to make sure everything was still in one piece, "Hell yeah, way to go boys," he said before looking over to see it was just Artie and Iceman, "Where are the others?"

"Sid went to the hospital, but the others didn't make it," Iceman reported looking towards the shot up semi-truck.

"Damn it," Ratchet said kicking some dirt aside, wondering how he would break the news to the men's families, especially Glenn, who now left behind three children without a daddy to wake up to.

Artie meanwhile now finally had the time to check out some of the cars he had been transporting, including another Infernus, a Stinger, a vintage Cheetah, a Banshee similar to Donnie's, a Comet, a Turismo, a Super GT, a ZR-350, a Deimos SP, and a Bullet GT, all high end sports cars that would have netted a pretty penny wherever they were sold. He wanted to let out a whistle, but refrained from doing such as now would have been an inappropriate time. He still couldn't believe though that Ratchet wanted to have these beautiful cars rigged to blow.

Ratchet meanwhile had disappeared back inside and emerged with three cases, each of them carrying ten thousand dollars cash as promised, the last one intended for Sid.

"Here this is yours for a job well done," he nodded solemnly to the hired gun before presenting one to his older brother before going back into the garage without a word.

"You think he's gonna be alright?" Artie asked the gun runner.

"I sure hope so. You never know with him. He's lost plenty of friends before with some of the jobs he's sent them on, but Glenn was one of his oldest friends. Hopefully he'll be feeling better soon," Iceman replied making his way back to the Patriot, "I don't know about you, but I need a hard drink after this, no a few hard drinks. C'mon, there's a bar over in Harbor called Misty Blue's. it should be open pool night and they have some of the best cheese curds in all of Rushmore for half price."

"Eh, I guess it wouldn't hurt," Artie shrugged before climbing inside.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: This mission was inspired by the 'Stacking the Deck' mission from "Saints Row 1" and a lot of the Roosevelt Hills area is supposed to be inspired by the Red County area outside of Los Santos in "GTA: San Andreas."

And now onto the random notes…

The opening of this chapter was a parody galore based on real-life video games. "Metal God" was a spoof of the "Guitar Hero" series and the 'Viking-like guitarist' he played as was inspired by GH's Lars Umlaut, the black/Viking metal inspired guitarist who wears the black and white corpse paint like a member of Dimmu Borgir.

For the other video games parodied and their real-life counterparts:

Tools of Bloodshed – Gears of War

Sinner's Junction – Saints Row

Epic – Fable

Full Blown Chaos – Grand Theft Auto

Super Road Brawler Omega 3 – Street Fighter Alpha 3

Gold Road Retribution – Red Dead Redemption

R.S.W.A. (Rock Star Wrestling Alliance) Unleashed – Raw vs. Smackdown

The "Ultra Bowl" is my spoof of the Super Bowl, "Criminal Justice" is a spoof of the "Law & Order" series, and Artie saying "I'll be there" is him spoofing Arnold Schwarzenegger's most famous line from the "Terminator" series.

As for Ratchet's physical inspiration, I would say he is inspired by James Durbin from the 10th season of "American Idol," who himself is a big metalhead.

Well I think I've pretty much covered everything for this chapter so as always read and review! Until then, this is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	12. Pressing Matters

Chapter 12: Pressing Matters

Taking a deep breath, Iceman launched the cue ball forth and sunk the 8 ball into the corner pocket, winning the game.

"You see Cappelli, that's how you do it!" the victorious gun runner chuckled while taking some chalk and evened out the tip of his pool cue.

"Fuckin' A," Artie grunted, wanting to smash his stick against the pool table. This was the third game in a row he had lost and with it the tab he would have to pay doubled.

It had been a little over two hours since he agreed to tag along with Iceman following their successful seizure of the shipment of sports cars and already he was wondering if it had been a good idea, given Iceman's billiard expertise, then again the amount of alcohol he had already ingested didn't help his case much either.

"Face it Artie, you can't beat me. Admit it," the gun dealer scoffed turning his attention towards the large wall-mounted plasma screen TV to his right, currently playing a Rushmore City Statesmen game against the Liberty City Swingers, unable to hear the audio due to Bad Company's "Feel Like Makin' Love" pumping in over the bar's sound system.

"Oh I will eventually and I'm not leaving until I finally whoop your ass," Artie shot back before taking another swig of his beer, "Bring it on!"

Iceman only sighed and rolled his eyes, "Guess we're gonna be here all night," and then he whistled over to the woman bartender, "Hey Josie, another round please!"

"Coming right up," Josie shouted back.

"Guess the old 'Cappelli pride' is kicking into overdrive again, huh?" Iceman snickered.

"You don't even know the half of it," Artie replied rolling his own eyes this time, "I swear sometimes it's more of a curse than a blessing."

"If my older brother had your family's balls he probably wouldn't be stuck in his dead end job right now with that nagging bitch wife of his and those two bawling demonic shit machines they call 'kids,' has no sense for the real life like his baby brother does," Iceman laughed.

"You're just a regular daredevil, aren't you?" Artie chuckled as he reached into the table's slot for the rack and gathered the balls. He was in the process of organizing them when his phone suddenly rang.

"Goddamn it, what now?" the Italian-American grumbled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to see Gino was calling him. "You're gonna have to hold up for a bit, Gino's calling me. I wonder if that desolate 'creature' out back must've asked him to marry her," he shuddered before switching his phone on.

_"Artie, thank god you picked up!" _Gino screamed from the other end.

Artie looked towards Iceman dumbfounded before replying, "Gino, what the hell's going on now?"

The shatter of glass and the rattle of automatic fire cut in, followed by the boom of a shotgun, forcing him to take the phone away from his ear.

_"It's the Redcoats! They've come to burn the place down!" _Gino hollered back.

"Why? What for? What the hell did you do now?" Artie shouted into the receiver, causing Iceman, Josie and the six other patrons to stare at him.

_"They came demanding their monthly tribute," _Gino shouted over another shatter of glass, _"but I told them I was through paying them. I figured now that you're here why the hell should I have to let them keep pushing me around like this? Next thing you know, they're shooting us up!"_

_ "Just another real sound judgment call on your behalf, Boss!" _Zeke shouted from the background.

_"Yeah, real sound judgment call Gino," _Artie thought with a shrug.

_"Please, just get over here and help us out! We can't hold them off much longer!" _Gino pleaded, sounding like he was about to burst into tears.

Artie grunted loudly and kicked a barstool over, "Fine, we'll be there! Just hang tight!" he said before switching his phone off.

"More family troubles, huh?" Iceman asked before taking a swig from his fresh beer.

"Gino's in trouble. The Redcoats have shown up and are threatening to burn the bar down," Artie replied, "We have to get over there as soon as possible!"

"Right behind you," Iceman shouted before gulping down the rest of his beer and allowing the bottle to fall to the tiled floor below.

Rushing out into the parking lot they made their way over to Iceman's Patriot before the gun runner called out, "Wait a minute, we'd better stock up first!" Pulling out the keys he made his way to the back tailgate and opened it to reveal his cache that would make any gun nut blush.

Artie hurriedly sifted through the weapons and ammo, grabbing more for his Desert Eagle and MP5A3, as well as grabbing a Colt M4 carbine with an M203 40mm grenade launcher attached, as well as slipping on a fresh bulletproof vest.

Once Iceman was stocked up the duo hopped in and made their way over to the besieged bar.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gino Cappelli winced as more glass shards rained down upon him from glasses and beer bottles that had been left on the counter. By now this had to officially be the most frightened he had ever been in his entire life.

"You can't hide forever Cappelli! We'll smoke your ass out and hang you from the nearest streetlight by your wrinkled old balls!" one of the Redcoats shouted, followed by another barrage of automatic fire filtering through the shattered windows and chipping away at the poster-covered walls.

"Hate to say I told you so, but I told you so," a youthful voice spat from behind him.

Gino rolled over on his back to see Zeke Jones crouched behind him, loading a handful of shells into his shotgun.

He had only seen the young bartender threaten unruly customers in the past with the aforementioned weapon, but he had never actually seen him use it in battle and found himself surprised at how well he handled himself under pressure, having managed to kill three Redcoat attackers and wound a fourth as they attempted to storm the small building. It was only because of him why they were still alive at this point.

"How are you holding up with that thing?" Gino asked looking towards the Remington.

"Not good, this is my last handful," he sighed shaking his head, "After this we're down to using anything around us, then we're pretty much fucked."

Gino stifled another whimper. Unlike Zeke or his cousin, he was no fighter and had already wet himself for the fourth time in this sitting, prompting his lone employee to crinkle his nose at the foul odor.

"Oh god…" he muttered pulling himself up behind the bar and peeking over the counter to see the pools of gasoline the Redcoats had managed to pour in after shattering the front windows, Zeke's timely intervention being the only thing which kept them from setting the place ablaze. The upper torso of an attacker lay slumped in the window frame, impaled upon a large glass shard. An MP5K lay beneath the man's outstretched hand, but was too far out of reach for the proprietor.

A red light suddenly blinded the older man and he could feel himself being yanked back to the floor, a gunshot ringing out and tearing through a cupboard behind him a second later.

"Looks like you let the infamous 'Cappelli pride' get the best of you again, didn't you?" Zeke snorted.

"Hey, you're the genius who's been trying to mount some kind of movement against these Redcoats behind my back, you oughta' be one to talk kid!" Gino retorted.

"Wait, just how the hell did you find out about that?" Zeke asked him, raising an eyebrow.

Gino said nothing and pointed to the thin, balding man in the soiled cream dress shirt behind them, his lips surrounded by a brownish liquid which also decorated his shirt.

"Pukin' Pete?" Zeke asked staring menacingly towards the disheveled alcoholic.

"When you practically live in that bathroom, ya' tend to learn a few things here and there…" the man trailed in a heavily-slurred tone.

"When we gonna fuck?" a crotchety tone suddenly cut in, prompting the three men to shudder as if they were listening to nails grating across a chalkboard.

The old prostitute from the back alley also hid behind the counter with them, making their skin crawl once they knew she was that close to them.

"Not now Freda, please be quiet," Gino asked, pinching his nose as the combined stenches of rotten milk, urine, moldy bread and any other substances covering her wafted over into his nostrils.

"But all this action is making me wet between the thighs!" she protested, making their stomachs churn.

"Do we really want to go there?" Zeke cut in, "Jesus fucking Christ woman, learn what a bar of soap is before you start propositioning anybody for sex around here!"

"And a dentist too," Gino added.

Aside from the four survivors, hidden behind the row of booths was an overweight college student with a rucksack strapped to his back with a camera phone in hand, recording the entire incident.

"Dude, this is so going on MeTube he giggled excitedly.

Outside the bar a small platoon of Redcoats gathered, using four Clovers to cordon off the area surrounding the establishment so no one else could get through. They also brought two of their Burrito vans along, each carrying a small group of henchmen.

They were determined to get back at Gino Cappelli for refusing to pay his monthly tribute and they were able to do so freely in broad daylight, knowing the locals would be too scared to call the cops on them.

"Get that gas ready. We're gonna turn this shithole into one huge bonfire," a Redcoat ordered.

"Should've brought some weenies and marshmallows while we were at it," another spoke up.

"What's that?" a third thug asked, his head perking up as he whirled around to see behind them.

Turning to their left, the Redcoats watched as a silver Patriot with dark blue icicle-like designs came charging towards them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Alright, we've got those bastards dead in our sights!" Iceman shouted slamming the pedal to the floor and charging head on towards the makeshift barricade created by the Redcoat Clovers.

"What are you doing?" Artie asked his friend as the SUV picked up speed, not paying attention to the cars ahead of them.

"You'll see," the smuggler replied.

The Redcoats had taken notice and were opening fire, but thankfully for the duo inside Iceman's Patriot was bulletproofed. They continued forth with reckless abandon until the sturdy vehicle tore through the small opening between the muscle cars, knocking them sideways and crushing one of the red-clad thugs beneath it. With another loud crunch the SUV plowed through the other set of Clovers until it swerved to a halt at the opposite end of the street.

"Wow, that was a rush," Artie spoke.

"Never mind that, just help me kill these fuckers," Iceman shouted back as the bullets pinged off the vehicle's surface. Kicking his door open he took cover behind it and returned fire with his M4 carbine.

Not needing to be told twice, Artie leapt outside and was ready already firing upon the Redcoats with his M4, rattling one of the already banged up Clovers with several rounds before managing to strike one of the gang members.

"You fuckers are gonna die for sticking your nose in Redcoat business!" one of the gang members called out, popping up from behind one of the Clovers to fire a barrage at Artie, his bullets bouncing harmlessly off of the bulletproofed door the young man hid behind.

"Not today asshole," Artie whispered back popping out from behind the door and firing a barrage of his own that caught the thug in the upper arm, forcing him to drop his rifle. His enemy disabled, the hired gun took the opportunity to fire another burst that caught the man in the stomach and sent him slumping across the hood of the muscle car.

Wanting to continue the counteroffensive, Artie pumped the attached grenade launcher and fired a cylindrical object over the door, watching as several Redcoats began ducking for cover.

"Oh shit Artie, fucking warn me next time you do that!" Iceman hollered back as the grenade rolled underneath a parked Clover, forcing him to retreat behind a rusted dumpster for cover.

A loud explosion followed and within seconds, two of the Clovers were swallowed up into one large ball of flame, shattering windows and charring the exteriors of the surrounding shops. The Patriot was only knocked backward by the aftershock, escaping with most of its paint seared away by the wall of flame.

"You have any idea how much those kinds of custom paint jobs cost?" Iceman complained as he slapped a fresh clip into his M4.

"Whatever happened to 'never mind that, just help me kill these fuckers,' huh?" Artie called back, having taken cover behind an abandoned taxi.

Circling around the back of the taxi the hired gun took aim upon a Redcoat firing at Iceman, launching a round into the man's side and kneecap, dropping him to the ground howling in agony.

"That's what you get when you fuck with my family asshole!" Artie hollered before killing the man with a round to the head and then dropping another thug who attempted to aid his fallen friend. His rifle clicked empty and he was forced to duck behind the cab to reload.

"You can't kill all of us dickhead!" another Redcoat shouted, pulling out a Molotov cocktail and lighting the rag dipped inside, "And you damned sure can't save the worthless prick who owns this place!" he called out before making a suicide run towards the bar's exterior.

"Oh no you don't!" Artie shouted, forced to drop his rifle and pull out his Desert Eagle, firing three rounds into the man's side. The Redcoat fell face down to the blacktop and the beer bottle shattered in his hand as he connected, finding himself ignited by his own weapon.

"Shut up and die you motherfucker!" another thug shouted pulling out his own crude explosive and this time tossing it in Artie's direction.

"Oh shit," Artie blurted out as he noticed the projectile flying towards him, bolting for cover wherever he could as the deafening rattle of numerous rifles sounded from behind him and he found himself buckling over as he was struck by several rounds, which were thankfully stopped by his vest, yet were enough to knock the wind out of him. Out of desperation he dove towards another nearby dumpster and pulled himself behind it.

From behind the safety of his own dumpster, Iceman watched as the Redcoats still fired away at Artie and fired a salvo of hot lead towards the gang bangers, dropping several of them in a single torrent. Before his clip could run dry he pulled out a hand grenade of his own and chucked it towards them, again prompting them to scatter in all directions. The explosive landed beside one of the remaining Clovers and flipped the flaming husk of metal onto its side as it detonated, taking out the remaining muscle car along with it.

"You Redcoats talk a big fucking game, y'know that?" Iceman taunted before firing another barrage that caught a thug in the sternum, sending the man crumpling against The Little Black Book's exterior, a trail of blood following him as he collapsed to the sidewalk.

Artie watched as the two remaining Clovers were destroyed by a grenade from his friend, but looked up to see a Redcoat hidden on the second floor of the abandoned record store, armed with a sniper rifle and taking aim upon the gun runner. Raising the M4 he fired a wild barrage that knocked the rifle from the man's hands before striking him in the wrist and causing him to howl in pain, so caught up the man tripped over the window frame's ledge and fell to his death beside one of the burning Clovers.

More Redcoats soon followed and began firing upon Artie and forcing him back behind the dumpster, wincing as the bullets pinged loudly off of its metallic surface.

Iceman sensed his friend's dilemma and popped out into the open, largely obscured by the smoke as he took aim and fired, dropping the three remaining Redcoats within a matter of seconds.

"Bullseye," he spat, until a demented cackle came from behind him.

Whirling around with his rifle raised he found himself staring face to face with another Redcoat, the right side of his face completely burnt away and most of his red overcoat heavily singed. In his shriveled right hand the nameless psychopath held a small canister of gasoline and in his left hand a gold-plated lighter.

"You think you've won this round, think again bucko!" the man laughed evilly as he flicked the lighter on, only to collapse a second later when a shotgun blast rang out from behind.

Standing behind the fresh kill was Zeke himself with a smoking shotgun in hand.

"Glad you could finally join us," the bartender huffed, taking time to survey all the dead bodies and smoldering vehicles around him.

"Zeke, is everybody alright?" Artie asked.

"Me and Gino are fine, but I swear to God if I had to spend another moment trapped with Pukin' Pete and that nasty crack whore from out back I would've turned the gun on myself and this place would've fallen already," Zeke reported as Gino emerged from the bar.

"Cuz, thank God you made it! I thought we were all goners for a second there!" Gino said running up and throwing his arms around his cousin.

"Yeah, I'm glad to see you're alright too," Artie replied trying to pull himself away from his cousin's iron grip, "but please next time think before you act, especially when you know you don't have much in the way of protecting yourself from these Redcoat bitches. Nothing personal Zeke, but I doubt you alone would've been enough to handle all of them without us around."

"None taken," the bartender replied, "We should've offered them Freda. You'd seriously think her rancid stench alone would be more than enough to make them all wanna turn their guns on themselves."

The four men laughed heartily at the smartass comment.

"Yeah, kill ourselves two birds with one stone," Iceman chuckled.

"But wait!" Gino said looking over to survey the aftermath of the mayhem surrounding his humble establishment "Isn't this going to piss off the Redcoats even more? I mean, they see their boys lying around shot up like this they're gonna fuckin' storm this place and burn it to the ground for sure! Not to mention they'll turn our severed heads into oversized golf balls!"

"Gino, Gino calm down! Calm the fuck down!" Artie shouted grabbing his cousin by the shoulders and shaking him violently. "None of those Redcoats are going to kill you, especially not if I have anything to say about it."

The hired gun then turned his attention to the damage surrounding them, "Although he is right, we need to get this mess cleaned up before any more of those Redcoat fucks decide they need a reason to seek revenge."

"I know the guy who owns the Haulin' Ass Towing Service. He could help us get rid of all these cars," Iceman said pulling out his cell phone.

"And what about the bodies?" Zeke inquired nudging one of the dead Redcoats with his steel-toed boot.

"That might be a 'do it yourself' deal for us," Iceman replied.

"But how," Zeke asked, only to be met by Iceman motioning towards one of the Redcoat Burritos with his thumb. The vehicle was still in good shape and probably had enough room to carry the amount of corpses left behind by the recent firefight.

"Gino, get the others out of here," Artie ordered his cousin, motioning him back into the bar, "Zeke, we're going to need your help," he continued while reaching down to grab one of the dead Redcoats from underneath his arms and hauling the carcass towards the aforementioned van.

"Okay, now _this_ certainly is not part of my job description," Zeke said staring down towards a heavily-charred corpse lying near one of the Clovers.

"Heh, do you think its part of mine?" Artie retorted, "Now quit your bitching and help us before anybody else shows up."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With a labored heave, Artie and Iceman tossed the final Redcoat into the back of the shot up, bloodied Burrito, the van shuddering heavily under the additional weight of another body.

"Alright, get those doors closed!" Iceman ordered Zeke, him and Artie struggling under the weight of all the bodies that wanted to come piling out, stopping briefly to kick an arm back inside that rolled out into the open. Grunting loudly, both men shoved themselves back first against the double doors until they clicked shut.

"Finally," Artie gasped wiping sweat from his brow, "Those fuckers were twice as annoying in death."

"No shit," Iceman replied climbing into the passenger's seat and readying his M4, "You can drive us there. I'll be on the lookout for any more of those assholes."

"Where are we heading to?" Artie asked climbing into the driver's seat and buckling up.

"Jansport, there's a car crusher there that can deal with this mess for us. I know the guy who runs the place, I've had to do some 'dirty work' in the past for other people, so he usually knows what I'm up to whenever I show up," Iceman said switching the radio's channel to 94.3 CSKD, which at the moment was playing, appropriately enough, Cannibal Corpse's "Make Them Suffer."

"That's Hellcats territory isn't it?" Artie asked shifting the van into drive and proceeding down the street.

"They're aligned with the Redcoats," Iceman replied, "I'm sure as long as you don't do anything 'out of the ordinary,' then they probably won't suspect a thing."

"We should probably get this washed too. The pigs will get suspicious if they see all the blood covering this baby," Artie added.

"Well, this is Lincoln Island, a place where everybody drives like a fucking nut job, so I'm sure they're accustomed to seeing blood all over cars already, but hey that's your call," Iceman replied.

Playing things on the safer side, Artie pulled up to the Scrub-a-Dub Car Wash that was next door to the Pay n' Spray where he had gotten his Sentinel repainted, managing to get most of the dried blood washed away.

"Not exactly good as new, but it's a start," the hired gun chuckled.

"Might've stood out a little more over in Washington or Jefferson, preppy bastards," Iceman grunted before abruptly changing the subject, "So, you're dead serious about getting the hell out of here once the quarantine is lifted?" Iceman asked while pulling out a cigarette.

"Damn right, why the hell else would I wanna hang around here for? I found out one cousin lied to me and the other almost got me killed. Not only that, just recently I worked for some schizophrenic drug dealing granny and a metrosexual British guy who kept rambling on and on about how 'violence equals drama and drama equals ratings' and some other bullshit along those lines. You honestly think I wanna hang around for that?" Artie grunted as they drove past Colt's Ammu-Nation in Stilsen.

"Could be worse, you could be putting up with those Redcoat dickheads on a daily basis," Iceman replied, expelling a plume of smoke out his rolled down window.

"Good point, those fuckers are relentless, as we just saw," Artie replied as they drew closer to the Jansport district.

"So who do you think would take care of Gino when you're gone?" the smuggler inquired.

The question caught Artie completely off guard and he slammed on the brakes a bit harder than usual as they came to a red light.

It was something he had never put much thought into. He was so caught up in his own thoughts he had completely forgotten about Gino and his problems. His long-suffering cousin could barely survive now and he was left wondering what things would be like once he was gone.

Gino had never been good at sticking up for himself, always backing down when confronted by those stronger and smarter than him. He relied upon spinning tall tales to keep himself safe, but once the lies were exposed and he was confronted by a cold harsh reality, he was quick to take off running and hide wherever he could.

How he had managed to survive this long was a miracle even by Artie's standards, granted a majority of his problems were likely caused by his own lack of discipline. It was an obvious lack of discipline that sent him to Johnny Sneed's doorstep in the first place and kept him hemorrhaging funds to keep the Redcoats off his tail, but now that he had stuck up for himself the shit had hit the fan.

What would Gino do to defend himself? He wasn't capable of standing on his own in a battle like Artie was and nor did he have the funds to hire somebody for protection. He certainly couldn't rely upon his self-absorbed younger brother for assistance and Zeke, although he was a good guy who handled himself in this situation, could only protect him for so long. Besides, Zeke was a young man who still had a future ahead of him and it was highly unlikely he would want to spend the rest of his life working a minimum wage job in a dead end bar. Once he was gone, Gino would be screwed.

In spite of the bullshit which had brought him to Rushmore City, perhaps this was a sign blood truly was thicker than water if he was left feeling this way about his cousin.

Come to think of it, Artie hadn't really put much thought into what waited for him after Rushmore. Where would he go from here? He had seriously considered Vice City and later Los Santos, but both ideas had come and gone faster than a Vinewood romance.

Would there really be any chance he could ever see himself establishing permanent roots here in Rushmore City of all places?

Sure he had to put up with jack offs like Johnny Sneed and the Redcoats, psychopaths like Aunt Gracie, and generally disgusting people like Old Freda and Pukin' Pete, but he did have Zeke and Iceman, both of whom seemed very upstanding and dare he say 'normal,' which he could tell was a huge rarity in a place like this, and he truly felt as if he had come to consider them friends within the brief amount of time he had been here. Even that pathetic loser Randy was about as normal as he could find in a madhouse of this magnitude, plus there was that Sunny lady who seemed pretty high class for a hooker of all things, he found himself wondering what had happened to her since he and Iceman liberated her from Cotton Dale's estate.

By this point in the day traffic was becoming pretty congested by those who were just getting out of work for the day and with no more time to sit at the stoplights, Artie just simply drove around most of the waiting vehicles, nearly sideswiping a Mr. Tasty ice cream truck, whose driver screamed obscenities until Iceman brandished his M4.

"Alright, we should be getting closer," the smuggler commented upon seeing some shops he was familiar with.

Artie didn't reply, too busy staring out the window where he spotted a few of the Hellcats standing around the High Notes record store smoking and having a few beers, and then pulling up to another stoplight where two Hellcat Dukes drove past. They seemed ignorant of his presence, but being within their presence was still unnerving and he would do what he could to avoid a confrontation.

_"Besides, I already killed most of those Hellcats from the other night. If any of them survived, I doubt they got a good look at me anyway," _he tried to assure himself as he passed the district's bus terminal.

The van continued down the street until they laid eyes upon a familiar junkyard with the car crusher featured prominently in the middle.

"Okay, we're here. Pull in nice and slow," Iceman instructed as Artie turned the van to his right.

He noticed a security camera above the front gate and waited patiently for the gate to slide open, pulling in carefully once it was fully opened.

As expected they were surrounded from all sides by cars that were stripped down, crushed or reduced to burnt out husks. In addition to the various car parts littering the grounds, there were also various pieces of broken down furniture, dismantled electronics and what had to be hundreds of cardboard boxes filled with miscellaneous junk.

"Alright, pull towards the back of the yard," Iceman ordered as Artie noticed him motioning towards a beaten up trailer with several lawn chairs and an old picnic table positioned near a still smoking B.J. Smith Grill. As they got closer he also noticed a wheelchair ramp near the door.

Artie pulled the van to a complete stop and Iceman reached over to honk the horn, "Hey Paco, get your lazy ass out here! We have a van that needs crushing!" Iceman shouted out his window.

Sure enough, a Hispanic man wearing a soiled wife beater soon emerged from the trailer in a motorized wheelchair.

"Eh Iceman, it's been a while! I'd love to stay and chat, but 'America's Next Top Hooker' is on in five minutes," the man shouted, "I still got enough time to crush your car though. Tell your friend to get it over to the crusher and I'll have it taken care of."

"Sure thing," Iceman said before climbing out, "You heard the man."

Driving the Burrito towards the back of the yard, Artie happened across the aforementioned car crusher and drove into a specifically marked spot. Once the vehicle was parked, he quickly climbed out and ran back towards the trailer, where he watched a large magnet latch onto the van's roof and lower it into the crusher, feeling no remorse for the dead Redcoats inside.

"Alright, that takes care of that troublesome nuisance," Iceman said turning to Paco and tapping fists with the man, "Thanks a lot bro. I'll definitely be over for a beer sometime later."

"No problem ese, what are friends for?" Paco said before disappearing inside.

"Now that we've got that business taken care of we need to get ourselves a ride back to Gino's," Iceman stated.

"I've got that covered," Artie said pulling out his cell phone and dialing the number for Freeman Cabs.

Within minutes a cab had arrived and both men found themselves taking a rather uneventful ride back to the bar, dropped off near Iceman's Patriot.

"Thanks a lot man," Artie said shaking hands with his friend, "If you weren't around to help I don't know if we would've made it or not."

"No problem man, you handled yourself pretty well," Iceman said returning the gesture, "If you ask me, you're more of a badass motherfucker than you give yourself credit for. Hell, gimme a call if you ever need yourself any hardware for a cheaper price in the future. You know how to reach me."

"Will do, take it easy brother," Artie said as Iceman climbed into the customized Patriot and took off down the street. Once the vehicle disappeared from sight only then did he exhale deeply and realize how tired he was.

_"As soon as I'm done checking on Gino and Zeke, I'm going upstairs and getting a few hours of sleep. That was another workout," _he thought making his way back inside the bar.

Author's Note: Again thinking from the 'what if this were an actual video game?' perspective, I would have had it in this mission where the Burrito's back doors would be very sensitive and an major ram would have caused them to come flying open, meaning Artie would have been at higher risk for attracting unwanted attention from both the police and the Hellcats, and that would have created unwanted troubles as one parameter for failure in this mission would have been the Redcoat Burrito being destroyed before it can reach the car crusher.

Just a little note I wanted to share.

Until then read and review as always! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	13. The Great Nuclear Hobocaust

Author's Note: The word play on this chapter's title is inspired by a line spoken by a bum in the 'Down Payment' mission of "Saints Row 2" where the Boss and Johnny Gat go up against the Sons of Samedi and a bunch of hobos in an attempt to secure the 'Old Stilwater Crib' as their meeting place. While fighting with the hobos, one of them will utter the line "Get ready for a nuclear hobocaust!"

I just thought that was such a sweet word play (that and "I'm a one bum army!") that I couldn't let it go to waste, and plus I thought that this new title seemed MUCH cooler than the generic-sounding "Pest Control," this mission being inspired by that mission from the original.

Chapter 13: The Great Nuclear Hobocaust

It had been two days since Artie Cappelli had helped defend his cousin's bar from the attacking Redcoats and since then he had been doing some extra work for the Freeman Cab Co. to make some extra money needed towards the bar's repairs.

So far his day had been fairly busy with several customers needing to be shuttled back and forth, and mercifully free of any encounters with those Borgnine douchebags. For now he was taking a much needed lunch break and stood in line at a nearby hot dog stand in Jansport, waiting for the fat man ahead of him to finish his order, which included the vendor putting one of every topping before the man finally paid up and left.

"And what can I getcha' sir?" the vendor asked in a thick Arabic accent.

"I'll take that one right there, extra ketchup please!" Artie responded reaching into his wallet for a five dollar bill.

"Alrighty, there ya' go and have yourself a nice day!" the man spoke handing him the fresh, steaming hotdog and accepting the bill.

"Thank you kind sir," Artie said walking over to a nearby bench and sitting down, taking a huge bite out of his hotdog and groaning loudly in pleasure at the sudden warmth he felt.

"Never gets old," he whispered to himself, not wanting to look crazy in front of the overly affectionate couple sitting on the bench across from him.

Finishing the hotdog within a few more bites he reached for a Funkin Screw he had gotten from the 24/7 and was in the middle of washing it down when his phone started ringing.

_"And that gets old pretty fast," _he thought to himself looking down to see Zeke was calling him. Remembering what had happened a few days earlier he quickly set the soda down and switched his phone on, "What's up?"

_"Artie, are you still working?" _the bartender inquired.

"Yes, why is something wrong at the bar?"

_"No, everything's fine here. I'm just wondering if it's not too much to ask, could you please swing over by the Bellowfield area to check up on Randy? I tried reaching him, but I got a message saying his phone has been disconnected and I just wanna make sure he's alright," _Zeke replied.

Artie breathed a sigh of relief, thankful the Redcoats hadn't come back to seek revenge, yet at the same time he had to shudder, remembering the last time he had dropped the long suffering Cluckin' Bell cashier off at his so-called 'house.'

"Fine, I'll look into it and I'll let you know right away if I find anything," Artie replied before switching his phone off.

Artie was making his way back to his cab when he suddenly heard some god awful guitar playing from a distance and decided to investigate and rounded a corner, only to stop and suppress the urge to laugh when he saw who it was.

_"Speak of the devil."_

Randy Spitz sat on an old milk crate with a beaten up, poorly-tuned acoustic guitar in hand. An empty coffee can was positioned in front of him, passersby scoffing at him as he tried to make a quick buck with his piss poor rendition of Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive."

"I'm a cowboy…on a steel horse I ride…I'm wanted…wanted…dead or alive!" the young man sang in a horribly off key tune that made many around him wince.

_"Man, he really couldn't sing even if his life depended upon it," _Artie thought, still fighting is urge to laugh.

"You suck!" a man in a green hoodie shouted before tossing a half-full cup of cappuccino at him, staining his yellow t-shirt.

"You oughta' be wanted for your piss poor singing!" an old man tugging an oxygen tank shouted.

"Christ, I don't know whether that's supposed to be singing or some Vietnamese guy having his intestines pulled out through his asshole!" a man in a suit called out, prompting laughter from some of his fellow streetwalkers.

"Hey, I'm trying to make an honest buck here asshole! Show some fucking respect!" Randy shouted back as he continued strumming away on the rusted strings, one of them snapping as his pick made contact.

"Why don't you show some respect and get your worthless ass off the sidewalk?" a redheaded woman shouted before spitting in his coffee can.

"And thanks for ruining my appetite loser!" a middle-aged man in a blue jacket shouted before tossing his half-eaten 'Big Willy' at the long-suffering wannabe busker, hitting him in the face and covering him with ranch dressing.

Randy was about to shout something back when he suddenly found himself shoved to the pavement by a tough-looking man in a leather jacket.

"Oops! Sorry…I slipped!" the nameless aggressor cackled before stopping to stomp on Randy's guitar before continuing on his way, leaving more people to laugh at him.

"I so hate my life…" Randy Spitz groaned as Artie reached down to help him back to his feet. "Let me guess, you're here to laugh at me too?" he asked upon taking notice of who it was helping him up.

"Uh no…I'm not…honest," Artie replied, still struggling to hold back his laughter, "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Hell no!" the former cashier snapped, "After what happened there the last time are you fucking kidding me? I wouldn't go back there even if my underachieving life depended upon it!"

"I see…maybe I should give you a ride back home then," Artie said motioning for Randy to follow him.

"You could do that…if I actually had a home to go back to!" Randy said sagging his shoulders sadly.

"What happened?" Artie asked as the younger man walked alongside him.

"Well because I refused to go back to Cluckin' Bell after that robbery, I ended up getting fired and next thing I know, I'm being booted out of my house," Randy mournfully explained as he swatted some flies away, "Before I could get my stuff out, some bums took over! Everything I own is still there…including my laptop and my framed copy of the first issue of 'Patriot Man,' autographed by the great Stan MacFarlane himself! Stan 'Freaking' MacFarlane!"

Artie couldn't believe it, but he actually felt very sorry for the poor guy and patted him gently on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry to hear that, I am…really," he said approaching his cab and motioning for Randy to get in, "I'll drop you off at our place. I'm sure Zeke would be more than happy to let one of his 'war buddies' crash on his couch for the time being, that or Iceman, one of the two."

"Thanks dude, but how am I going to get my laptop back? That's more important to me than my left nut! Well, that and a few other things. How am I going to escape my dead end life if I can't finish my screenplay for the next great Sci-Fi/Mafia crossover film?" Randy grunted, sagging into the passenger seat.

"Can't you just go buy a new one?" Artie inquired, starting the car up and switching over to the Underground Sounds FM industrial station.

"Uh genius…I just got fired from my job! Hello!" Randy said waving his hands wildly before shooting his hand towards the radio and switching the station over to Symphony 104.1, which was playing "Stars and Stripes Forever" by John Philip Souza, "And obviously I'm not going to have much of a career as a street musician…and I sure as hell will not resort to turning tricks in the nearest Burger Shot bathroom either! Haven't you ever been in one of those?"

"Okay, I think I see where you're coming from," Artie said preparing to make a right turn.

"Wait a minute!" Randy suddenly blurted out, snapping his fingers and banging his head on the cab's ceiling, "I saw how badass you were handling those gunmen…or at least you tried to be badass…maybe you could help me out!"

Grimacing slightly, Artie took a deep breath before speaking, "Let me guess, you want me to kill a few bums and help get your stuff back."

"Bingo!" Randy shouted, but then stopped himself and looked awkwardly towards the hired gun, "Just as long as the fuzz has no idea I'm tied to any of this. I don't wanna go to jail…believe me, I wouldn't last a second…especially after what my Uncle Louie told me about 'Horse Cock Harry…'"

Artie rolled his eyes at the statement, "Fine, if the pigs catch me I swear to God I have no idea who you are…and then I come back to haunt you if I end up getting the death penalty over this!" he snapped, causing Randy to yelp aloud.

Nothing more was said as the cab made its way along Gustav St. in the ramshackle Bellowfield district.

As he drove down the street, Artie couldn't help but feel as if he were in some kind of movie about backwoods hillbillies waiting in the shadows to ambush the unsuspecting 'city folk.' Several filthy kids ran around in the street playing with toy guns, a group of drunks sat around a garbage can campfire on a crumbling house's front lawn in broad daylight, a hobo slept on a graffiti-covered park bench, a scantily-clad woman carried all her earthly possessions in a laundry basket and a couple of rifle-toting rednecks were engaged in a round of target practice using tin cans positioned on the rusted carcass of a former Walton pickup truck, one of them firing and instead hitting a stray cat in the process.

"Alright, we're here," Artie reported pulling up to the peeling green house, finding a drunk passed out on the front lawn and another wobbling on the front porch.

"Please, just get it over with so I can get out of this shithole forever," Randy whined, burying his face in his hands so he wouldn't be forced to look at his former home.

"I'll do what I can," Artie replied grabbing the provided sawed-off shotgun and some Molotov cocktails. "Keep the engine running, I should be in and out in no time."

Walking in confident strides the young man made his way towards the front door and right up to the drunkard, who smiled at him with his few remaining yellowed teeth.

"Hey buddy; this here's a private club. Ya' gots to pay to get in!" he said extending a grubby hand in front of the door.

"Is that so?" Artie sarcastically asked aiming his shotgun at the man's chest and pulling the trigger, "I failed to get the memo."

Shoving his way through the rickety door, the hired gun once again found himself repressing his urge to vomit, _"Just like the last time I was here."_

Right away he was met by the sight of a bum slumped over the kitchen sink, vomiting into it. Wasting no time, he raised the sawed-off and fired a round of buckshot into the man's back, ending his suffering.

Several hobos sat in a circle in the living room area, so drunk and out of it they barely registered the shotgun blasts around them.

"Did somebody order a band?" an overweight man in a black stocking cap and filthy brown trench coat called out in a heavily slurred tone before having his head blown off by a point blank blast.

One by one, Artie dispatched the invading hobos with ease until he had completely cleared out the living area and made his way back to the bedroom, where he found another hobo sleeping on Randy's roach infested mattress, but yet he found no signs of the missing laptop or that autographed comic book the younger man had spoken of.

Knowing it was a risky pursuit given the man's current intoxicated state, Artie still wanted to pursuit his last possible lead and ran over kicking the man hard in his shin, "Wake your ass up!" he screamed.

The vagrant gasped loudly, but was not yet fully awake, prompting Artie to fire a blast just inches away from the man's head and send him bolting awake, only to be knocked back down again as the hitman placed his foot on the hobo's chest.

"The former occupant of this house is missing some things very important to him. Where are they? And please don't test my patience!" Artie said pointing the barrel threateningly down at the frightened man.

"P-P-Please don't sh-shoot me! I honestly don't know man!" the bum blurted out before catching himself, "b-b-but I did s-s-s-see some of the g-g-guys taking some stuff to the old drive-in!" the man stammered.

"Where is that?" Artie demanded.

"I…I can't tell you shit! They'll fucking kill me!" the man whimpered.

Artie sighed and lowered the shotgun, only to pull out a lighter and light the makeshift fuse of a Molotov.

_"Time to do Randy another favor and burn this rancid shithole to the ground," _he thought before tossing the improvised explosive onto the hobo and casually walking outside, the man's screams nearly deafening by this point as he made his way out the front door and towards the cab, past the bum on the front lawn, who had somehow slept through the whole ordeal.

"Where the hell is everything?" Randy demanded looking towards him wide-eyed as he saw the hitman had come back empty handed.

"I need you to point me to the old drive-in. One of the guys inside said he thinks some hobos might have taken your stuff there," Artie replied.

"It's not too far away from here, only within walking distance," Randy replied as his former home was swallowed up by the flames.

_"Damn, that place really must've been on the verge of collapse if only one Molotov can do that much damage in that amount of time," _Artie thought making his way around to the driver's side and reaching inside to switch the cab off.

"What are you doing?" Randy demanded looking hurriedly over towards the group of rednecks who had been engaging in target practice, "We have to get the hell outta here!"

"You said that laptop of yours was more important than your left nut, right?" Artie asked.

"Uh…y-yeah!" the former cashier blurted out.

"Well alright, then we're going to get it back and I need you to lead me to where this abandoned drive-in is," Artie explained.

"But I haven't gotten my hepatitis or my tetanus shots!" Randy protested, "Who knows what kind of diseases those hobos are carrying! Hell, you've probably picked up a few just being within arm's length of them!" he squealed as Artie made his way around to his side and yanked his door open, "D-D-Don't fucking touch me man!"

"C'mon, we're going to get back what is rightfully yours!" Artie said yanking the smaller man out, "Now quit being a bitch and lead the way," he said before reaching down to pick a rusty screwdriver off the ground and offering it to his companion.

"No way in hell I'm touching that!" Randy yelped, "There's gotta be God knows how many germs crawling all over that thing!"

"Dude, look at what you used to live in!" Artie said motioning towards the burning house, "How do you know you're not carrying a whole shitload of diseases from what you used to sleep in!" he half-shouted before readying his sawed-off, "Now please, I just tore through a house full of hobos so don't test me."

Randy was backed into a corner and only nodded sheepishly as he began running down an alley to the left of his former home, most of the space congested by broken down cars and motorcycles, abandoned furniture and a few crude shanties occupied by several other hobos who looked too out of it to care as they ran past.

"Alright, we shouldn't be too far," Randy called out, only to skid to a halt a second later.

"Well look what we got here boys!" a scratchy voice called out as the duo found themselves face to face with a bald man with an oddly-shaped head, a toothless grin and a face covered with blisters, wearing nothing but a pair of tattered old jeans held in place by a rope belt.

"Looks like we got ourselves some rich folk passin' through," the man cackled, "We don't see many of your kind 'round these parts. How's about you make us a donation…better yet, why don' you give us a few minutes with the little lady over there," he snickered towards Randy, thrusting his crotch forward in the 'doggy style' motion, causing Randy to gag violently.

Grunting in frustration, Artie raised the sawed-off and fired a blast that obliterated the top portion of the man's ugly face.

"Holy sheep shit!" another hobo called out before producing a crude shank, "If you ask me boys, it's time for a nuclear hobocaust!"

"Uh Artie, are you sure it's a wise move to be pissing off a bunch of drunken hobos?" Randy asked barely able to hold onto his screwdriver.

"You want your stuff back or not?" Artie hissed before a bum in a soiled green wife beater leapt towards him with a crowbar in hand, forcing the hitman to duck low and sweep the man from his feet before delivering a hard kick to his ribs.

"Don't mind what Snaggle said back there," a dirty, mange-covered bum in a tattered combat jacket said as he circled Randy like a shark sensing blood, "He didn't exactly have the best sight, but still it's been a long time since I had me a fresh meal," the man said eagerly licking his crusty lips, a large pipe wrench dangling in his left hand.

"Hey man, I don't' want any trouble I just want my stuff back, that's all!" Randy said backing towards a nearby fence.

"And Daddy wants some young virginal flesh!" the hobo said before taking a swing at the young man.

_"Shit, these stupid drunks are more tenacious than I thought," _Artie thought to himself as he fired his remaining shell into the chest of a man in a faded denim jacket, bringing up his shotgun to smack away another man in a filthy sweater and red bandana who was armed with a small rusted hatchet.

Randy yelped aloud while barely ducking underneath another attempted swipe, a deep gouge left in the wooden fence behind him.

"It's only a matter of time pretty boy! Daddy's got a sweet tooth!" the bum hollered before trying to swing downward at his crotch, but Randy scampered backward on his hands and feet to avoid the filthy man's attempted swings.

"Artie, h-help me!" Randy pleaded.

"I'm a little busy at the moment!" the hired gun called back, swinging the stock of his shotgun upward to shatter the jaw of a bum charging towards him with an old wooden baseball bat.

"Ya' can't stop me rich boy! I'm a one bum army!" called out a burly man in grease-covered overalls who wielded an old parking meter as his improvised weapon, swinging it at waist level in the hopes of bringing down the invading hitman, who had barely leapt back in time to avoid the swipe.

"Hold still little boy!" the psycho hobo called out as he missed another swipe at Randy, who by now had rolled over onto his hands and knees and was trying to crawl away from his attacker.

"I'm so never giving money to a homeless person ever again," he whimpered while trying to scurry away, spotting a hole in a nearby fence and making a mad dash for it. He had reached it and was in the middle of coming through when he felt the man's grubby hand clamping down on his ankle.

"Ya' ain't goin' nowhere kid!" the bum chuckled sadistically, "Now we're gonna have some fun!"

_"C'mon, think Randy! Think damn you!" _his mind shouted to him as he struggled to find a foothold in the rough surface, but it was no use and he could feel himself being dragged backwards on his stomach, trying to dig his screwdriver into the pavement to halt the man's progress.

_"Jesus Fucking Christ! Why didn't I even think of that before?" _he asked himself. His mind had been in such a rush he completely forgot about the rusted old screwdriver, just as he was being rolled over onto his back.

"Bye bye baby boy!" the hobo roared raising the wrench above his head.

Acting on instinct, Randy lashed out and drove his screwdriver into the man's thigh, quickly leaping out of the way as his blood squirted out. The nameless hobo howled in agony as he collapsed to one knee and with a mighty heave yanked the bloody tool from his leg, but by then the former Cluckin' Bell cashier had found a discarded lead pipe and walloped the man upside the head with one mighty blow.

"Oh god, Randy what the fuck did you just do?" he asked himself while staring down upon the man's collapsed skull.

Swiping a brick off the ground, Artie chucked it towards the parking meter-wielding bum, striking him in the shoulder and forcing him to drop his crude weapon. The hitman brought his foot up and kicked the man hard in the stomach, doubling him over and leaving him open for his opponent to perform a wrestling maneuver known as the 'D.D.T.,' driving his skull into the pavement.

"C'mon, let's find your stuff and get the hell outta here," Artie shouted, finally able to see the tattered screen of the former drive-in over a nearby fence. Given some much needed free time; he was able to reload the sawed-off and rushed towards the lot, finding it had been converted into a crude shantytown, populated by a sizeable portion of drunken vagrants.

"Guess we're gonna have to shake these fuckers down to find out where your things are," Artie said grabbing one of the hobos and tossing him through a makeshift shanty consisting of old wooden crates and sheet metal.

"Viet Cong! It's an ambush!" another bum shouted, "Danforth, hold our flank! Look out for Charlies up in the trees!"

"Get ready!" Artie shouted to Randy as he raised his shotgun and fired a round of buckshot into a filthy emaciated guard dog that had been missing patches of its fur, the animal letting out a loud yelp as its head snapped back.

"You can't stop this bum rush!" another hobo called out reaching for a shovel and charging towards Randy, who inadvertently tripped the man as he fell to the concrete and in the process ended up delivering an elbow drop to a bum passed out on a ratty old sleeping bag.

"Artie, help me damn it!" Randy squealed as another hobo swung a pool cue downward at him, the young man barely rolling out of the way.

"You're gonna have to grow a fucking pair for once!" Artie shouted back as he struggled with another bum that had been hiding in the charred husk of a Roadtrain semi, the man leaping out and latching onto his back. The hitman was forced to throw himself backward to get the man off before another bum charged head on at him with a crowbar and he brought his shotgun up to deflect the blow, the sawed-off being broken as a result. He kicked his foot out and sent the bumbling tumbling backward as he still struggled with his ambusher, finally gaining enough traction to flip the man over his shoulder and knock him out cold.

There was no time to rest as the hitman was forced to duck a swing from a tire jack, but the hobo had been winded by his heavy swing and let him wide open for Artie to kick him hard in the back and drop him to his knees, leaving him to the mercy of a powerful uppercut that knocked him out cold.

Randy managed to scamper for cover behind one of the ramshackle huts to avoid the pool cue-wielding hobo and a bum armed with a chain that had joined in on the pursuit.

"My god…who did I piss off in a previous life to deserve this? I'm never come here again! Hell, once I get a roof over my head again I'm never leaving there!" he whimpered while becoming entangled in a ratty old bedspread hanging over a crudely set up clothesline, temporarily blinded as he stumbled into a still-lit campfire and the sheet became engulfed in flames.

"Ah! Hot! Hot! Hot!" Randy screamed as he could feel the flames encroaching and managed to toss it off, only to come face to face with another hobo that had been waiting near a broken down Voodoo, the man armed with a high-powered nail gun.

"Viet Cong, 12 o'clock!" the bum shouted squeezing the trigger, his nails becoming embedded in the long abandoned '73 Sadler pickup truck.

"Oh god, my life is shit!" Randy squealed as the nails were driven into the metallic surface behind him.

"Your Commie ass is gonna pay for what you and your gook brothers did to Asa and Hoss!" the bum shouted chasing after him.

"Damn stupid bums! Why does it always gotta be me they steal from?" he whined while tossing an abandoned bike in the pathway behind him hoping to slow his pursuers.

With a mighty 'oomph' Artie drove his fist repeatedly into the face of a shaggy-haired bum in a plaid shirt before tossing him into two of his oncoming buddies and then grabbing another and chucking him head first into another shanty.

"Think I've had enough of a workout for now," he whispered withdrawing his Desert Eagle and firing a blast into the face of a ratty-looking woman who charged towards him with the sharpened tip of a broken baseball bat before firing a round into the gut of a hefty man preparing to toss an old TV set at him. He looked to his right to find three more bums charging towards him with crude weapons and he remembered his remaining Molotovs, grabbing one and chucking it in their direction, setting all three men ablaze at once.

"Now where the hell did Randy take off to?" he quietly asked himself while running past a hobo cowering beneath a picnic table and watching as a few more scampered away from the lone man tearing a path of destruction through their makeshift community.

"You can't run forever Charlie!" the nail gun-wielding hobo called out, "We're gonna smoke your gook ass out eventually!"

Randy held a hand over his mouth to avoid crying out, hiding beneath the overturned remnants of a '92 Previon. His heart was thumping loudly inside his chest and he could feel his breath getting short on him, knowing he would soon need to take a hit from his inhaler. _"How do I always get myself into these situations? Whenever I peek my head out, fate always has to shovel shit in my face!"_

"Uncle Sam will not be denied boy! I'm gonna sniff your ass out one way or another!" the bum called out, banging his fist on the car Randy hid beneath hoping to scare his prey out. "I'm gonna get me a medal for bringing your ass in!"

A gunshot rang out and Randy screamed like a little girl as the same bum fell in front of him with a crater in the side of his head. He needed to get out of there and scurried out from beneath the car, only to jump again as a powerful hand gripped his shoulder.

"Randy, settle down! It's me!" Artie shouted from behind him, "Christ, you keep that shit up I might as well strap a siren to your head. Man you scream like a bitch."

"A-Artie! Thank god! I thought I was a goner there!" Randy yelped.

"Whatever, we've wasted enough time. Now let's find what you need and get our asses in gear," the hitman replied looking around with his gun raised.

"It's gotta be somewhere around here…I hope," Randy muttered as he happened across a frightened woman with frizzy salt and pepper hair, her tears made oily by the soot covering her face.

"Shh! Listen!" Artie said suddenly grabbing his companion by the shoulder and creeping towards a slightly larger shack lit up by a nearby trashcan fire.

"Oh mighty Patriot Man, we ask that you please protect and deliver us from those maniacs attacking our sacred land! In the name of the great Stan MacFarlane, amen!" a voice called out.

Artie pulled the blanket that served as the shanty's 'door' aside to find three people inside, one of them wearing the antlers from a moose head.

"Be gone foul blasphemer!" the wannabe preacher shouted drawing a meat cleaver from a nearby table, only to be knocked backward by a round to the chest from Artie's Desert Eagle before the hitman dropped the other hobos with single rounds.

The autographed comic book hung on a wall above a makeshift altar where a pigeon had been sacrificed. Aside from a few smears and fingerprints it appeared intact.

"Oh my god," Randy exclaimed running over and grabbing his treasured possession off the wall, "I am never letting you out of my sight ever again!" he said hugging it to his chest as if it were his own long lost child that had finally been returned to him.

"Uh yeah…now what else did you say we needed? Your laptop I believe it was?" Artie asked stepping back into the open, where the drive-in now largely appeared to be deserted.

"Over there," Randy said pointing towards another shanty Artie had left untouched. The hitman took his cue and led the way over to the rickety structure, where he could hear a woman's moans coming from within.

Creeping towards the opening he found a barefoot hobo in a soiled wife beater and ratty jeans who had somehow managed to hook up Randy's laptop and was in the process of watching a Mia Diane porno.

"Excuse me sir, but that laptop belongs to my friend," Artie called out.

"Finders keepers! Get your own asshole!" the bum retorted, leaping to his feet with a large pipe wrench drawn, only to be cut down by a blast to his right kneecap.

With his final foe incapacitated, Artie made his way over and disconnected the laptop, walking past the wailing man without paying him any attention.

"Please brother! Don't take my bouncing boobies away from me!" the hobo pleaded as Artie walked away.

Withdrawing a lighter, Artie pulled out the last of his Molotov cocktails and lit its makeshift fuse, casually tossing the makeshift explosive over his shoulder and immolating the pathetic hobo whole.

"One laptop coming up," the hitman said offering it to the laptop back to Randy, who for once actually seemed overjoyed in his tortured existence.

"Holy shit, thank you so much!" he cried out, hugging the laptop much in the same manner as the framed comic book, "Thanks a lot Artie. If you were a hot chick I'd so be letting you make out with me right now!"

"Gee thanks…I think," Artie said looking away, "Is this everything you needed to grab?"

Randy looked at him awkwardly and struggled to speak before finally finding the words, "Well…uh yeah…there is sort of…one more little thing…I needed to grab…" he said, his face turning bright red.

"Well what is it?" Artie demanded, "Go on, spit it out kid. I haven't got all day."

"Well it's sort of embarrassing," Randy giggled before looking around to make sure no one else was listening in, "You promise not to tell anybody?"

Artie shrugged and rolled his eyes at the same time, "Randy, you used to wear a fucking chicken head for God sakes, what could be more embarrassing than that?"

"Well it's sort of a person…" he trailed off before catching himself, "…a best friend I've had since I was two years old."

"Is this a stuffed animal we're talking about?" Artie asked, causing his companion to look to the ground in embarrassment.

"Yes…uh, just how did you know?" Randy asked looking up to him.

"Duh, what else would be your 'best friend' at that age?" Artie replied shaking his head, "Fine, I won't tell another soul. Now let's find your 'friend' and get out of here," he said grabbing a loosened board on a nearby fence and pulling it aside.

"What was that?" Randy asked pointing towards a little blur he spotted while making his way through.

"Guess we'd better find out," Artie said cocking the Desert Eagle's hammer and running towards the old concession stand, watching as a figure disappeared into what had been the ladies' room.

The duo made their way into the rancid quarters, Randy again squealing as a large rat scurried alongside him, stopping as he received another sharp glare from Artie, who raised a finger to his lips motioning for him to be quiet.

It was a struggle for the former cashier as they moved through a rancid, poorly-lit space and he was weaving back and forth to avoid stepping on what he assumed would be more rat carcasses, letting out another loud yelp when he stepped in something squishy.

"Randy!" Artie hissed.

"I c-c-can't help it! Th-This is too m-m-much like th-th-those 'Crawlers vs. Slayer' movies!" he whined as Artie pulled out his lighter to illuminate the confined quarters. They were nearly to the end and all that remained was one final stall where the door was slightly ajar.

Artie looked back to the frightened Randy and nodded quietly with his gun raised in his other hand. Creeping towards the stall he brought his foot up and used it to pry the door open, stepping forth with his gun pointed downward.

A youthful scream greeted the hired gun and he found himself pointing his gun at a filthy little girl who had to be roughly eight years old. In her hands she held an old teddy bear with a red bowtie, the same stuffed animal he had seen in Randy's bedroom.

"Mr. Eddy! There you are!" he shouted in joy, his tone changing the next second, "Give him here little girl!"

The little girl cowered in the corner and clutched onto the teddy bear for dear life, the way all children clung to things they believed would offer protection from the often imagined evils which supposedly surrounded them.

"You heard me! Give him back. He's mine!" Randy ordered.

Artie could see the fear in the little girl's dark misty eyes and couldn't help but wonder how she had ended up under these circumstances to begin with. Furthermore, he had to wonder what happened to her parents, the possibility that he had could have murdered them hitting him like a freight train. She looked to be scared and alone and he wondered if that teddy bear could be all she had left in this cold, cruel world.

"C'mon damn it, give him back!" Randy shouted and attempted to make his way into the stall, only to be restrained by Artie, "What the hell Artie?"

"Let her have it," the hitman said.

The younger man looked at him in wide-eyed horror, "What are you saying man? That's no ordinary teddy bear, that's Mr. Eddy, the most awesome bear in the entire universe! I can't let him go! I just can't!"

"And just why the hell not, huh? Why can't you let him go Randy? Huh, why can't you let him go?" Artie asked narrowing his dark eyes towards him, "Why do you still need a teddy bear? You're twenty what freaking years old! You're a grown fucking man! It's time to move on and let somebody else have it. You really want people to keep picking on you? They're going to if they know you're gonna be such a big baby over something so trivial!"

He again turned to face the little girl, "Look at her, she's frightened. She probably has nothing else left for her and right now that bear is probably all she has left! Do you really wanna take that away from her? Do you really need to keep being such a big fucking baby because you had something taken away from you? Huh, is that what you fucking want for yourself?"

Randy looked over in wide mouthed shock towards the hired gun, his companion's gaze cold and unflinching. "I…I…" he stammered, but he now knew there was nothing he could say to change the man's mind.

"Come on. She's seen enough," Artie said pulling out a one-hundred dollar bill and dropping it on the floor in front of the little girl, "It's yours," he said to her before turning on his heel and walking away.

Randy stared at the little girl and then towards Mr. Eddy, a tear creeping out of the corner of his eye knowing he would likely never see his beloved teddy bear ever again. He could have been a brute and just gone in there and snatched it away from her, but what kind of person would that make him? It would make him just as worse as those who had stolen from him. Wiping his solitary tear away he made his way after Artie.

The duo made their way back to Artie's waiting cab, Randy's former home still burning in the background as some of the gun-toting rednecks had now gathered around roasting fresh road kill over their makeshift 'stove.'

"Uh hey Artie…I'm sorry if I behaved like a kid back there," the younger man said fastening his seatbelt.

"Don't worry about it. It's all in the past. Right now I'm just going to worry about getting you over to the bar in one piece," Artie said shifting the car into drive and making a quiet, uneventful drive back to their aforementioned destination and within minutes Randy was being dropped off.

"Here you go," Artie said shifting the taxi into park.

"Thank you so much Artie. I owe you big time for this! Let me know whenever you need your ass out of a jam and I'll be right on top of it!" Randy called back before exiting.

"Sure, I'll keep in touch," Artie replied just as a drunkard came staggering out of the bar towards his cab.

_"I hope it's not too soon. Christ, being around him makes me hate my own life," _Artie thought to himself before turning to greet his passenger, "Where to?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

(A/N: This scene right here would be intended to be my play upon the 'random encounters' that occur during the GTA4 arc.)

_**2 Hours Later**_

Artie had just dropped off his last passenger of the day outside of the Rusty's Trombone musical instrument shop in Bellport and was ready to call it a day. All he needed to do now was get back to the depot, collect his paycheck, get his car and then go home. At the moment a Weazel News broadcast was beaming in over the radio and he turned it up to listen.

_"In other news, following the actions of a 'just minded vigilante' in the long besieged and very rundown Bellowfield district, Mayor Ronald Walker has decided to effectively cordon off the dilapidated area."_

Another male voice called out, this time the flashing of cameras from a live press conference could be heard in the background.

_"I've decided that I am through beating a dead horse and that after this 'act of God,' the time has come to put the Bellowfield district out of its misery!" _Mayor Walker spoke.

_"Mayor Walker, can you tell us what will become of the residents of that district?" _a female reporter asked.

_"What about them? That place is home to nothing but a bunch of pimps, prostitutes, drug addicts and God knows what else. It is time they move on with their lives outside my fair city!" _the mayor replied.

_"Mayor Walker, it has been brought to our attention that you are already planning a major gentrification project in the area, one of which is already coming under fire from your Democratic challenger Robert Kretchell. Your thoughts?" _a male reporter asked.

_"Fuck that liberal douchebag!" _the mayor called out before catching himself, _"You can have that edited out, can't you? The douchebag part that is."_

Artie switched off the radio as he made his way back to Komojack Downs and was only two blocks removed from the depot when he came to a halt at a stoplight, only to have his back door suddenly open.

Looking over his shoulder he found a blonde-haired woman in a nice blue dress with a suitcase in hand climbing in.

"Take me over to the Montezuma Hotel in Cuba Norte," the woman ordered, her tone indicating she had just been crying recently.

"Ma'am, I was just about to punch out for the day," Artie protested.

"You're a fucking cab driver aren't you? You're supposed to shuttle us well-paying citizens around to where we need to be. It's not gonna kill you to get off your fucking ass and drive me somewhere last minute. Isn't your job supposed to be making money for your boss?" the woman snapped.

"Fine," Artie said turning his meter on and finding a safe spot to turn around.

He took another look in the mirror at his new passenger and having seen her face and recognizing her tone, he now knew he had seen her somewhere before. She had been the lady testing a Desert Eagle at Colt's Ammu-Nation store when Iceman took him there to buy a gun.

"Rough day?" he inquired as the woman exhaled deeply.

"You don't even know the half of it," she grumbled, "My bastard husband's been fucking his secretary behind my back again and none of his worshipers believe me!"

"Really?" Artie asked, his ears perking up at the mention of 'worshipers.'

"My husband is the minister over at the Methodist church in Jefferson Beach. The members of his congregation think he's so high and pious they refuse to listen, but I know he's lying to me…if only I could find some way to prove it to them!"

"Well I'm sure there are plenty of ways you can do that," Artie replied.

"Hmm, do you think maybe you could do me a favor?" the woman asked.

"And what would that be?" the cabbie responded, wondering if she was about to offer him a job.

"Do you think maybe you could help me prove he's been cheating on me? I'll pay you if you do," she said leaning forward.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do about it," Artie replied just as they were pulling up to the Montezuma.

"Good, here's my card. Please let me know what you find. He should be getting out of work pretty soon, so you'll need to be over there fast," the woman said offering him a business card, identifying her as 'Monica Belding.'

"It would be a pleasure doing business with you. I will let you know as soon as possible Ms. Belding," Artie nodded before accepting a twenty dollar bill from her.

Artie switched the radio's station over to Old School 97.3, which was currently playing "Jump Around" by House of Pain, and proceeded towards the nearby off ramp leading to Jefferson Vale.

The hitman harbored a very low opinion of organized religion in general, sickened by how it could possess so much power over one's general beliefs and hating it in believing it how more people have died in the name of a supposed God than any other cause on this earth. The chance to ruin one so-called 'man of the cloth' was just too good for him to pass up.

It wasn't long before he was arriving in the Jefferson Beach district, dominated by the coastline whose name it bore. There was still a fair amount of activity on the beach with people playing volleyball, riding around in jet skis and even a beach party where a 'dance battle' was taking place. Not far from the beach was the local Methodist church with a silver '05 Imponte DF8-90 parked out front.

A redheaded man exited the house of worship dressed in the typical black outfit of a preacher, followed by a shapely brunette and it was there Artie recognized them. They had been the same naked couple who wanted him to avoid the paparazzi when he was shooting that reality TV pilot for Solomon.

"The surprises just keep piling up," Artie whispered to himself as he pulled out his Whiz Wireless and activated the built-in camera, snapping a scandalous shot of the couple kissing alongside the car. Judging by their terse actions he could tell they were both hot and bothered and decided he would follow them around, thinking he could get more pictures that would make the first one laughable.

He waited as the car started up and allowed the preacher to get some distance before following after him, cutting off an elderly couple riding on a Faggio.

"Alright preacher man, just stay in my sights," Artie muttered to himself as he allowed a Coach bus belonging to the 'Lassies Laid Bare' franchise to get in front of him, hoping the distance would lessen any suspicions of being followed.

He continued following from a distance as the bus turned to the left and when he saw the sedan make a right turn he sped up.

The trail led him to the Kirby district, an area filled with modest homes with small yards and playgrounds, lacking the opulence of the other neighborhoods Artie had explored during his time on Jefferson Vale, the ideal area for raising your kids, if there even was one in Rushmore City.

Artie watched from a distance as the preacher's car turned into the driveway of a nondescript two-story ivory house and watched as the man and his secretary got out of the car, the redheaded man giving her a hard smack on the ass as they made their way inside. Ready to dig up more juicy gossip, he parked his cab down the street and walked towards the house, slowing his pace so he would fit in.

It wasn't long before he was approaching the house and looked around before sneaking along the wooden fence listening for anything out of the ordinary.

_"This is quite the 180," _he thought to himself, _"I was trying to keep those photographers from getting his picture and now here I am doing it myself," _he told himself as he rounded the corner into a neighbor's backyard. _"No remorse for sanctimonious pricks like him."_

He eventually found a hole in the fence where he could spot the couple's pool in the backyard and the nearby hot tub. It wasn't long before the shapely brunette secretary emerged from the house in her birthday suit, the same way in which she had been when he first met her.

_"Damn, with all the houses surrounding them I'm surprised their neighbors don't know about this already," _Artie thought to himself as he activated his camera phone and snapped some shots of the nude brunette, _"God that lady is built. I'm gonna have to save some of these for myself," _he thought just as the preacher emerged with a bottle of champagne.

"Hey honey remember what we practiced," the lady called out, "You're the Solitary Steward and I'm the damsel-in-distress. You're on a mission to save me from my own lack of sexual satisfaction!"

"Oh right," the preacher replied, Artie making sure to snap a picture of him before he pulled out a white cowboy hat and black eye mask.

"Hi ho Shiny, away!" the preacher called out pretending to gallop on a hobby horse towards the waiting woman before they started going at it like a couple of wild dogs in heat.

_"Monica's gonna be so pissed when she sees these pics and so will this guy's sheep," _Artie smirked forwarding each picture to the scorned wife and hitting the 'Send' button as he made his way back to his cab.

His phone rang just a few seconds later and he switched it on, only to hear a cacophony of enraged shrieks before finally speaking, "I take it you've seen all the pics?"

_"Yes I have and boy I'm so taking that bastard's ass to the cleaners!" _Monica screamed from the other end before finally calming herself down, _"Thank you Mr. Cappelli. I'll see to it that one thousand dollars is wired to your account for a job well done."_

"Pleasure doing business with you," Artie replied shutting off his phone, only to sniff his armpit a second later.

"Goddamn I need a shower after being around those bums!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And once again I find myself with a chapter being much longer than I expected it to be and this is technically my first chapter where more than one mission occurs within a chapter.

Again there were several other parodies and references I made in this chapter, the first being Mia Diane, who is a parody of Lisa Ann, one of my favorite porn stars who is the amazingly hot cougar that spoofed Sarah Palin in Hustler's "Who's Nailin' Paylin." I definitely had to throw in some form of reference to her.

"Crawlers vs. Slayer" is a spoof of the "Alien vs. Predator" franchise. The scene with Artie and Randy moving through the dimly-lit bathroom and Randy being scared of something leaping out at them made me think of how in the AvP series you often have the Colonial Marines or other surviving humans trekking through the dimly-lit areas only to have the Aliens or Predators suddenly leap out at them from the darkness, in this case the 'Crawlers' being the Aliens and the 'Slayer' being the Predator.

"Lassies Laid Bare" is a spoof of "Girls Gone Wild." I could have used the world 'Lady' instead, but I thought 'Lassies' sounded funnier and might create some kind of weird double entendre where some readers might picture a Collie coming for them rather than a naked college girl. LOL!

The Solitary Steward is a spoof of The Lone Ranger and Shiny would be a spoof of his horse Silver. I wanted the preacher to be in something that would be both kinky and hysterical at the same time.

Well that's it until then and as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	14. Close Encounters of the Hostile Kind

Author's Note: Before I get down to business on this chapter I wanted to deliver a few shout outs…

**SlayerDarth: **I know I typically list the parodies I include in my ending author notes and one got past me; yes 'Playhouse' is intended to be a spoof of 'Playboy.' Yes the Bellowfield district is where Artie saved Dixie from the bikers in the original story as well. I'm also glad you liked the 'Patriot Man' spoof. Captain America has always been one of my all-time favorite comic book characters. Call me idealistic if you will, but he seems to represent a small piece of America untouched by a lot of the corruption and partisan bickering that happens in my country today, so I guess that's one reason I've always related to him. Out of all the movies in the upcoming "Avengers" arc, I think his movie was my favorite.

I know I've been slow with it, but I definitely gotta get around to reading and reviewing the rest of 'Winona City,' especially seeing how I was nice enough to let you borrow one of my parody references recently.

**Native Gunz: **I agree with you wholeheartedly Lil' Wayne is a fucking douchebag, but then again all materialistic assholes are douchebags to me. I had that scene specifically for the sake of making fun of him and wanting to have it where some badass band got one over him, in this case Black Sabbath. Yes "Epic" by Faith No More is a song I actually liked by the way.

I would say the Redcoats are largely inspired by Los Carnales and the Brotherhood from the "Saints Row" games. Since the original story was set in a city that was supposed to be inspired by Washington D.C., I felt the gang being called the Redcoats would provide some sort of good historical basis for them being villains seeing as how that's what the British soldiers were called during the Revolutionary War. I'm not a big fan of drastic changes for doing rewrites, so I decided to keep the Redcoat name for them.

The scene with that one bum using dialogue in the last chapter was inspired by the Feral Ghoul attacks from the "Fallout" games and his appearance was supposed to be inspired by a Feral Ghoul as well. To those hobos Artie and Randy probably would have looked like 'rich boys,' especially Artie with his nicer clothes.

**Afro Spirit: **I too feel that it's a crock of horse shit when people call this country a 'Christian nation' especially when many of the Founding Fathers were Deists, which would probably be today's equivalent of a Secular Humanist, and I see how a lot of things were indeed ripped off from the ancient Pagan religions, especially when you see the similarities between Santa Claus and Odin, the "all father" in the ancient Norse religions. Personally I look at this country as a melting pot of many different faiths and to call us a 'Christian nation' flat out is just very arrogant and asinine.

I think it's funny how a lot of people on the far Religious Right try to bring back the McCarthy-ist "Red Scare" with socialists and all that other paranoid, fear mongering demagoguery bullshit they spew when I personally am more scared of those Dominionist assholes that would very likely turn this country into some kind of backwards Christian theocracy if given the chance.

I have seen clips of "The Big Bang Theory," but I have yet to actually watch an episode in its entirety.

I totally share your grievances with them incorporating zombies and brutes into the SR games too, I think it really took away from the realism and made it a little too 'far out there' for me and I thought it was also too out there for the Deckers to have those bitches on the roller skates like that, I mean come the fuck on! It still had its things in it that I liked though, especially with a lot of the cut scenes in between missions, so it was still an enjoyable experience for me in plenty of other instances as well.

Chapter 14: Close Encounters of the Hostile Kind

Artie exhaled deeply as he stepped out of the shower, reaching over for a towel to dry himself off.

"Fucking bums," he muttered to himself, still feeling filthy after having been in there for over an hour and a half. Perhaps it could have been more of a 'psychological' kind of filth he felt.

It hadn't been long since he had gotten home from running his errand for Monica and he had felt so beaten up afterward. The shower was to be his immediate destination as soon as he entered the apartment.

"Christ, that was like being around a hundred Freda's," he muttered to himself wrapping the towel around his waist and was about to step out when he heard a loud click that left him reaching for the Glock resting on the back of the toilet. Instinctively he leapt out into the small kitchen area with his gun pointed towards the entrance.

"Hey man, don't shoot! I live here too y'know!" Gino Cappelli squeaked throwing his hands into the air to show he was unarmed. The stout man was covered from head to toe in sweat and there was a dark spot in the crotch of his gray trousers.

"Damn it Gino, be more careful next time," Artie snapped, "Next time warn me when you're on the way up."

"Hey, I was living here before you!" the shorter man spat, "Just because those bastard Redcoats wanna run me out of my own bar doesn't mean I'm gonna let my cousin run me outta my own apartment! Besides, you really need to let up on that whole itchy trigger finger bit, that's getting old already…"

"Of course I'm gonna have an itchy trigger finger after what happened here two days ago," Artie retorted, "which was greatly in part due to your own 'Cappelli pride' getting you in trouble plenty of times before!"

"God, will you shut the fuck up about that already?" the older cousin spat walking over to the refrigerator and reaching in for the carton of milk, taking a long chug straight from the container and making his relative shudder in disgust. "Look, all I wanna do is relax after what just happened."

"What happened now?" Artie demanded, again taking notice of the dark spot over his cousin's crotch.

Gino sighed heavily and collapsed into the folding chair at the small card table that served as the apartment's 'kitchen table.'

"That bastard Sneed called here again, threatening to up the percentage after all the havoc those damned Redcoats raised," the elder Cappelli groaned burying his face in his hands, "I tell ya' Cuz it's only a matter of time before the other shoe falls and I'm saying goodbye to this cruel world."

Artie's blood boiled at the mention of the bastard loan shark, as it always did. Despite having only met the man once he already hated him deeply and just the mention of his name alone never failed to rattle the often cool-headed hitman.

"That fucker," the hired gun muttered to himself as Gino again started rocking himself violently, only catching himself when he nearly fell backwards in his chair. Reaching into his pocket the innkeeper again pulled out his anti-anxiety medication and popped a few pills into his mouth.

"I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do Cuz," the elder Cappelli groaned, "I swear every time I step outside I'm thinking some bastard's gonna be on hand to shoot me dead. Sometimes I even wonder if this place is safe enough for me. It's only a matter of time before somebody comes to get me and if not that, maybe there'll be some huge earthquake…or a fucking tsunami! No, maybe a plague of locusts or zombies attack!" Gino rambled on until Artie again interrupted him.

"Pull yourself together!" the younger cousin shouted forcefully grabbing Gino by the shoulder, "Just take a few deep breaths and try to focus, or whatever your therapist tells you to do. You have to calm down," Artie said before looking around the apartment, "You must be getting stir crazy or something. It's been a while since you've been outside these walls."

"Well where else am I supposed to go?" Gino asked looking up to him in bewilderment, "I can't think of many other places around here where there won't be somebody trying to kill me or traumatize me in some other kind of horrific way!"

Artie sighed deeply before looking down to his cousin, "There can't be _that_ many people out to get you, perhaps that's just the anxiety getting to you again," he said before taking the extra seat next to his cousin, "I'll tell you what, I'll treat you to a night on the town, a chance for you to get outside the apartment and do something. I imagine it's probably been a while since you've been out and about."

"You're right, it has," Gino muttered looking away in shame.

"Are there any places around here you've been wanting to visit? Anything at all you can think of that's at least halfway fun?" Artie inquired.

Gino calmed himself long enough to think before snapping his fingers, "The Alhambra!"

"What?" Artie asked looking towards him quizzically.

"The Alhambra, it's a cabaret club over in Gomorrah," Gino responded, "I've never been there myself, but I've heard from some customers saying it's quite a place to be. It's got Las Venturas-style showgirls, all you can eat buffet, high quality entertainment…they even have attendants in their bathrooms!"

"Fine, it's your call. We'll check out this Alhambra place the," Artie said rising to his feet, "Get yourself cleaned up and we'll be on our way. I don't think you'll be getting any pussy if you look like you just pissed yourself," the younger cousin remarked making his way over to his wardrobe.

Grabbing himself a fresh pair of boxers and some socks, he also grabbed a pair of stonewashed jeans, a royal blue polo shirt with the 'Zip' emblem on the breast pocket and then completed his outfit with a nice pair of blue hi-tops recently purchased from SubUrban. For additional sex appeal, he threw in a brand new digital watch and a gold chain. Even if he was just going out with his cousin he still wanted to look nice in case he were to encounter any attractive ladies tonight.

_"As long as they don't find out I was surrounded by a bunch of hobos earlier in the day," _Artie thought to himself as Gino emerged from his bedroom in a gray jacket, black vest and white dress shirt underneath along with a pair of matching gray slacks and some black wingtips that may have come from Perseus. Granted his clothes were wrinkled from having spent a long period of time in his closet, but at least he looked more presentable than he normally did, truly an improvement for the cowardly, reticent innkeeper.

"Guess we shall be on our way then," the elder Cappelli spoke.

"Sure thing," Artie said leading the way downstairs to the waiting Sentinel, the alley thankfully left quiet as he pushed a button on his keychain to unlock the doors. They climbed inside and he started up the car, which had been left on the Peace FM ambient/chill out station.

"Ooh, this is good music," Gino remarked favorably as Artie slowly pulled the car out of the alley and proceeded towards their destination.

_"If you're looking for something to fall asleep to," _Artie thought pulling to a stop sign, _"I just hope I don't end up passing out behind the wheel."_

"So, how have things been going for you lately?" Gino asked attempting to build conversation, "You're obviously the one who's getting out and about…so do you think this fair city's been to your liking so far?" he asked with a nervous laugh.

"Well I did kill a bothersome drunk, escort a bipolar drug dealing granny, and saved a business all for you…so I do find that to be somewhat questionable by my standards," Artie replied driving past some crackheads before passing Aunt Gracie's Corner Diner.

"Well, I was trying to look out for you…or at least get you a few extra dollars along the way," Gino sheepishly spoke.

"Well I really don't know," Artie replied as they approached the Eastwood Bridge, "I still don't know what's gonna be up for me once the blockade is lifted."

"Aw c'mon Cuz, your stay hasn't been _that_ bad has it?" the elder cousin laughed; only to quiet down upon seeing Artie's serious stare.

"I've already had a bunch of people pulling me in different directions and I was hoping to escape that drama once I got out of Liberty. All I want is to live in peace for once in my lifetime," the hired gun replied.

"And you can't find that here?" Gino asked, almost sounding nervous as to what his reply would be.

"You really think being hassled by loan sharks is considered peaceful?" Artie asked only to stop when he realized what he had just said. _"Real smooth Artie. You wanted to take your cousin out to help him forget about that bullshit and now you might've just reopened the poor guy's wounds. Better be ready for the whining that's about to follow."_

Surprisingly Gino was quiet, staring quietly at the river outside as they came to Washington Dell. As it had been before, the scenery changed dramatically as they exited the industrial shithole of Lincoln, almost like they had driven through a portal into an alternate universe. The druggies and hookers were gone, replaced by the well-dressed couples out for their own night on the town.

"Man, I feel so jealous coming here sometimes," Gino remarked looking out the window at some nicely-dressed people getting out of their fancy cars and walking up to the Four Presidents nightclub.

"Well you could be out of that shithole you're in right now if you weren't gambling every dollar you make away faster than the crackheads wanting their fix," Artie replied.

"Hey!" Gino snapped back, "Just remember I let you live in that 'shithole' too! You oughta' be one to talk pretty boy."

"Well I'm just saying. If you didn't have such a big gambling problem you wouldn't have half the problems you do now," Artie bluntly replied as they got closer to Gomorrah.

Gino's face contorted into an angry scowl and turned a bright shade of red, if it were humanly possible he would have been shooting steam out of his ears right now. His knuckles turned a bright white in contrast to the red on his face and he wanted to punch Artie as hard as he could right now, yet he found himself unable to and sat in silence until they pulled up to their destination.

The building reminded him of a Medieval Spanish castle with _'The Alhambra' _above the entrance in bold orange letters. In further accordance with the feudal theme, the club was surrounded by a moat with a bridge lined with large granite statues of knights on each side. Strangely though, they could hear Dean Martin's "Ain't That a Kick in the Head?" piping out from an unseen speaker, totally out of place in regards to the intended 'Dark Ages' theme.

The cousins made their way inside and found themselves in a spacious hall that served as a dining area, bar and open space all rolled into one, the latter of which he assumed was probably used as a dance floor. In some senses it almost reminded him of the Perestroika cabaret club he visited a few times when he lived in Liberty City.

At the front of the room was a stage, where at the moment a man in a jester costume was juggling both flaming torches and miniature chainsaws simultaneously in an amazing show of grace and dexterity.

"Over there, there's an open spot!" Gino whispered, pointing towards a small circular table and squeezing his way between some crowded tables and earning a filthy glare from a woman whom he brushed his gut against trying to get to the seat.

They sat down and watched as the juggler wowed the audience, all of whom sat in stunned silence and waited until he caught all items and bowed to them before giving their applause.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only Flick Flack!" _an announcer called out just as the curtain lowered.

"Okay, and is there anything I may get you gentlemen tonight?" a woman's voice called out until there was a soft gasp, "Artie?"

The hitman looked over to see a waitress approaching their table with a tray in hand, her blonde hair worn in an updo. Her nametag identified her as _'Gladys,' _but when he saw her face his jaw nearly hit the floor.

"Sunny?" he gasped, "What are you doing here?"

"Please, call me Gladys, I've left that other job behind me," she said noticing he wasn't alone, "and I work here. I just started not too long ago," she said setting some glasses of water down on the table before going over to give him a peck on the cheek.

"It's good to see you again," he smiled before motioning towards Gino, "Su-uh, Gladys this is my cousin Gino. Gino, this is my friend Gladys."

"Ah yes, it is always truly a pleasure to meet a comely young lass such as yourself," the elder cousin said quickly combing over his bald spot before reaching over to kiss the waitress on the hand.

"The pleasure's all mine," she said before returning her attention to Artie, "It's been a while, but I'm happy to see you again. I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm still on the clock. You still do have my phone number, right?"

"I do," Artie nodded, "I'll have to give you a call again soon," he waved before she left to tend to other customers.

"How come you always get the hot pieces of ass knocking on your door and I don't get shit?" Gino grumbled looking towards Artie in disbelief before staring a peek at the ex-hooker's firm buttocks.

Artie offered a harsh stare towards his cousin before replying, "Because I actually get out and do stuff, alright?"

_"And now, the main event for tonight…coming to us from some shithole dive in Las Venturas, the Alhambra is proud to present to you, the one…the only…The Great Poonanny!"_

The audience clapped as a short man wearing a green turban and glittery gold cape made his way onto the stage flanked by two women, one blonde and one brunette, in Las Venturas-style showgirl outfits.

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen," The Great Poonanny called out as one of his assistants removed his cape to reveal his black tuxedo underneath, "As a master magician, I am constantly asked 'Poonanny, where did you gain your powers? Were you born with them? Did you gain them after being bitten by a radioactive spider? Are they the side effect from a venereal disease you picked up from that prostitute at the truck stop back in Bone County?"

As the magician ranted on and on, one of his assistants pushed a rack towards the center of the stage, while the other approached a case positioned on a table at the right-hand side.

"Furthermore, I get people asking me if I use my powers for good?" the illusionist spoke as the rack was pushed closer to him, "Like making world hunger and illegal aliens disappear? Hell, I've even had people ask if I could make all the liberals disappear?" he spoke, eliciting a few laughs from the crowd before taking his place.

"None of that will be happening tonight dear citizens of Rushmore City, for I am here strictly to entertain you!"

Poonanny then climbed onto the rack and got into position for his blonde-haired assistant to start strapping him down.

"Tonight, I am going to do the one trick that has taken many a life before me, one that only the man who boasts of the biggest balls will undertake…I am going to catch a bullet between my teeth with a high-powered assault rifle!"

On cue, the brunette assistant pulled out a Colt M4A1 assault rifle, causing several in the audience to gasp in terror.

"Oh c'mon, it's a fucking illusion! All that 'smoke and mirrors' bullshit people!" a guy in the crowd shouted, prompting a scowl from the magician.

"Yes people, I am going to catch a bullet between my teeth!" Poonanny repeated as the final strap was secured and the other showgirl took her position at the opposite side of the stage, "Witness my awesome power as I defy every law of physics!"

The showgirl took aim and pulled the trigger, her blast resounding in the enclosed space. Rather than the magician catching the bullet between his teeth, instead the back of his head exploded, spraying his brain matter all over the rack and causing many to shriek in horror.

_"The Great Poonanny, ladies and gentlemen!" _the announcer called out as the curtain fell to the stage, _"For God's sakes, somebody call 911!"_

"That was short. I hope they have something more than this," Artie remarked, inviting a worried stare from Gino, "Oh, sorry about that."

"Somehow that schmuck always survives," a person at the next table spoke up, "Don't ask me how, but I heard this guy was once dropped into a pit of corrosive acid and he came back to perform again the next night."

"Jesus Fucking Christ! You'd seriously think this shithole would've had a backup plan at least!" another voice called out, a slimy tone Artie hoped he would never have to hear again and one that left Gino taking cover beneath the table.

Leaning over his table a little, the young man carefully scanned the dimly-lit room, looking over the occupants whose features he could make out.

Eventually, he looked over towards the bar to see a familiar individual in a dark green suit casually reclining against the counter with a drink in hand. He was flanked by two women with their arms around him and two powerfully-built men in black suits. The sight of the man had made Artie's blood begin to boil.

"Sneed…" he half-growled, forced to exercise whatever self-control he had to prevent him from leaping out of his chair and charging across the room to choke the life out of that son of a bitch.

"Seriously, this is worse than when that gypsy midget brought out those dancing poodles!" Johnny spat while stealing a shot off a waitress' tray and gulping it down.

"Oh god, is he looking over here?" Gino whimpered from beneath the table.

"He's not," Artie replied before taking a deep breath, "We'd better get the hell out of here and go do something else. Don't you think so? There should be plenty else we can do around this city," he continued, looking cautiously towards the bar, where the loan shark was in the middle of making lewd comments towards another waitress.

"How about Aunt Gracie's?" Gino suggested while peeking out from beneath the table's skirt, "I could use some of her chili right about now."

Artie nearly shit himself at the thought of encountering the bipolar drug dealing granny and was even less enthusiastic about wanting to try her chili.

"Maybe we could go to that new Oar House over in Harbor," Artie countered, "It's near Misty Blue's if you're in the mood for some pool and cheese curds afterward."

"Good idea, I'll race you to the car," Gino blurted out, making a mad dash out from beneath the table on his hands and knees and knocking over a waiter carrying a tray full of food. "We should get over there before last call!"

"Damn it Gino," Artie muttered in reference to his cousin's hasty movements, which were drawing the ire and suspicious stares of the occupants surrounding them as the portly man scampered towards the short stairwell leading to the higher level and rising to his feet as he made his way towards the lobby, knowing there would be a greater chance of him attracting Johnny's attention.

"I'm terribly sorry," the hitman whispered to the other patrons before pumping up the short flight of stairs to catch up with his cousin.

_"That son of a fucking bitch, I'm gonna have to get out of here before I do something stupid and end up getting Gino in even deeper hot water," _Artie thought to himself walking through the corridor, trying to look as normal as possible, but failing miserably as he stalked after his fleeing cousin, although he felt a little despondent he would be passing up on the chance to rip Johnny's fucking head off.

_"Besides, no doubt those two apes of his would turn me into Swiss Cheese before I could even get within five feet of him," _Artie thought while maneuvering around a couple before he was cut off by a familiar voice.

"Artie wait! Where are you going?" Gladys called out.

The hired gun sighed deeply before speaking, "I'm terribly sorry, but something has come up and we need to leave right away."

"Is something wrong?" she asked noticing Gino pushing his way out the double doors and nearly knocking over another woman, "You can tell me."

"Sunny, I mean Gladys, it's a long story and I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to tell you without getting pissed off and wanting to smash the nearest thing I could find," Artie replied in a tone that had come off harsher than intended as he walked outside, finally stopping himself in front of the entrance and taking a few deep breaths, "There's somebody in there who I have a history with, even within the short amount of time I've been here, and it's got Gino spooked really bad," he replied watching as his cousin bolted towards his thankfully still untouched Sentinel, pulling on the door handle in desperation.

"C'mon Artie, hurry up! We gotta get outta here!" he called out in a panic.

"I'm truly sorry Gladys, but I'll have to talk to you some other time," Artie was in the middle of explaining just as the cocky tone of Johnny Sneed called out from behind.

"Why Arthur Cappelli, it's so nice to see you and here at the Alhambra of all places!" the loan shark harshly laughed, causing him to freeze up right on the spot. "Never thought I'd be seeing someone of your stature in such a fine establishment, hell I thought you preferred the smoky low-rent dives compared to the finer qualities of nightlife."

Artie slowly craned his neck to glare hatefully towards the smug loan shark walking towards him, both of the women with their arms still around him and the two bodyguards following close behind.

"Really Artie, how have you been?" Sneed asked in mock interest, "It's been a while since I last saw you around," he spoke before looking past him, "Oh and is that who I think it is? Is that your shit stain of a cousin? Gino Cappelli, how are you? Have you finally learned the concept of paying your debts on time?" he called out to the elder cousin with a mock wave.

"You leave him alone you dickless prick!" Artie snapped, "You shut the fuck up about my family period, you hear? This is between you and me you son of a bitch!"

Johnny laughed harshly at the response, "I can hear you just fine Artie, but I have to take issue with people who can't pay up on time. I do have bills to pay too y'know and I can't get by when others can't get by."

The loan shark then turned his attention to Gladys, looking her up and down, "Why hello there, aren't you a pretty little thing? She's a little too out of your league, don't you think?"

"And what the hell makes you think you're any better, slime bag!" Artie taunted.

"Sorry pal, but you're too low class for my standards," she spat giving him the middle finger, "Don't think some fancy suit and a couple cheap broads make you any higher on the totem pole than what you really are."

Again Johnny laughed, while the women with him both looked like they wanted to tackle Gladys down to the ground and stomp her face in with their stiletto heels, "Oh really? Well that's not what you were saying six months ago…Sunny!"

The comment caught Artie by surprise, causing him to stare angrily at Johnny and then in disbelief towards Gladys, who only looked down to the ground nervously while clasping her hands together.

"Didn't you tell him Sunny?" Johnny asked before turning over to Artie, "That's right Arthur, I fucked her! Not just me, so has everybody else on this rancid shithole of an island! Didn't you know that's the biggest hooker in all of Lincoln you're talking to?"

"That's a lie you cocksucking faggot!" Gladys screamed at Johnny, "Don't listen to him Artie! He'll tell a lie about whatever he can just to get an excuse for his boys to shoot you! He'd do it to his own fucking mother if he could!"

"Now Sunny, I believe you were taught it's not nice to say such things about other peoples' mothers," Johnny said in his typical condescending, lecturing tone, "but then again, your mother was probably too high half the time to teach you right from wrong anyway! That's how it is with all the hood rats around these parts!"

Now it was Gladys' turn to contain her anger, gritting her teeth together to stifle the screams of rage wanting to escape, Artie being the only thing holding her back from trying to claw the slimy bastard's eyes out.

"You're quite the Romeo, aren't you tough guy?" Johnny laughed, "In her case a woman literally would be the death of you!"

"You shut the fuck up about her you fucking piece of shit!" Artie roared, leaping towards Johnny and ready to pound his face in until both of his bodyguards threw themselves in front of their boss with Desert Eagles drawn.

"Just you remember one thing Artie; you can talk all the shit about me all you want, but if you try anything funny, I have plenty of friends in 'higher places' that won't hesitate for one second to track you down and show you what the Komojack River looks like up close and personal…and they'll do it to you in pieces if they have to. That lard ass cousin of yours knows that lesson all too well," Johnny explained as a sleek black Stretch limousine pulled up behind him, "You'd better get hopping on paying up those debts you fat fuck, or else it'll be the both of you I'll be coming after the next time!" he shouted to Gino before climbing into the back of the limo and disappearing from sight.

Artie was beyond enraged and absolutely wanted to kill somebody, grabbing a brick lying on the sidewalk and chucking it through the windshield of a nearby Banshee, causing its alarm to go off.

"That fucking piece of shit!" he growled, until Gladys placed a hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon Artie, don't let that bastard get to you," she whispered into his ear, "Before he interrupted you, I was going to tell you that my friend's car broke down and I need a ride back home. If it's alright with you, you can drop me off at my place. I'll be out in a second, please just wait for me."

"Fine," Artie hissed making his way over to the car and pushing the button to unlock his doors, Gino quickly throwing himself inside.

"Okay, get us outta here!" Gino whimpered as he tried balling up into a fetal position.

"We have to wait for somebody first," Artie replied before exhaling deeply and banging his head against his headrest, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth until every muscle in his face throbbed.

_"That son of a bitch thinks he's on top of the whole fucking world, well one of these days I'm gonna show that stupid fucker he's not as bulletproof as he thinks he is," _Artie thought to himself just as a light tap came on his window.

"Okay Artie, I'm ready to go," Gladys called out now wearing a black overcoat with her purse in hand before climbing into his backseat, "Take me over to my place in Horgate."

Without a word, Artie started up the car and switched the station over to some angrier, more aggressive music on 94.3 CSKD, currently playing "Berserker" by After the Burial, as he pulled out into traffic, still fuming to the point of cutting off a taxi.

"Jesus!" Gino jumped as the tires screeched beneath him.

"Artie please, you need to calm down," Gladys pleaded reaching forward to gently rub his shoulder, "If it makes you feel any better, not everything he said about me was true. I haven't slept with every guy around here. I may not have had the most honest job out there, but I still had my standards."

"I hate to say it, but you must not have had very high standards if you were going to fuck some bastard like him," Artie growled, but suddenly caught himself knowing it would likely offend her.

"Artie, that thing with him was a one-time only deal. I just assumed he was another customer and I had another reason for accepting his money, but now that I look back upon it I truly regret saying yes to him…believe me…I do," Gladys replied, sounding slightly hurt by his last comment.

"I'm sorry Gladys, but that son of a bitch is really under my skin and I'm sure you'd feel the same way if he were threatening members of your family," he replied looking over to Gino, who silently rocked himself back and forth.

The former prostitute said nothing the rest of the way back to her apartment and it wasn't long before the Sentinel was pulling up to a white three story building outlined by brown trim.

"Thanks for the ride Artie," she said climbing out and leaning over to speak to him, "I'm sorry if things didn't go as well as you hoped they would."

Artie sighed deeply in shame, "Well I guess this is goodnight then. I'm sorry if I might have sounded like a jerk with some of the things I just said. I know I let that fucker get to me _that_ bad."

"Don't worry about it. You couldn't have foreseen that prick would be there tonight any more than I could have," she said before focusing her attention on Gino, "You think he's gonna be alright?"

"I really don't know," Artie said looking to the portly man, who stared forward in a glassy-eyed catatonic state. "That bastard has him so scared out of his mind I really can't tell you what's next for him."

"Well I hope he turns out alright. I'll talk to you later," Gladys said turning on her heel and making her way inside, the hitman watching as she disappeared through the front door.

"Take me home," Gino muttered next to him.

Artie stared long and hard at the older man, who still stared forward into space.

With a nod, he shifted the car into drive and made his way back to the bar.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Yeah, I know this wasn't a very action-packed chapter, but I wanted to add my personal touch on a 'friendship activity' as I saw them in the GTA4 arc, hence this was kind of intended to be a break from the typical blood and bullets you've so become accustomed to.

This chapter's title is a word play on the Steven Spielberg movie "Close Encounters of the Third Kind."

If this had been an actual video game I would indeed say that the inside of the Alhambra would be modeled closely after the Perestroika cabaret club.

In other random notes, the Four Presidents night club is another reference to the city's name and would be largely inspired by Club Liberty and the magician's name is of course a play on 'Poo Nanny,' couldn't resist the urge to throw in another Rockstar-inspired innuendo.

Well that's it until then so read and review as always! Until then, this is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	15. Bringing Out the Big Guns

Chapter 15: Bringing Out the Big Guns

"Ah, that felt good," Artie sighed warmly as he stepped out of the Touchy Feely massage parlor in LaFollette, another small district dominated by upscale shops, restaurants and smaller, yet presentable homes.

He was about to walk back to his Sentinel when he could hear loud chanting in the distance and decided he would check it out for shits and giggles.

_"I haven't had a good laugh all day," _he told himself as he rounded a corner and found himself in Arnold Square, where a small stage had been set up in front of the Arnold Monument and on it stood a short, chubby man wearing an 18th-century tricorne hat with a megaphone in hand, his messages being blasted through the megaphones attached to the top of two Rumpo vans parked at the opposite sides of the stage, a banner identifying him as a member of the _'Pissed Off Organized People Party.'_

_ "Robert Kretchell is a lying Communist pig with four wives and twenty-seven illegitimate children!" _the speaker shouted, to which his followers roared in approval, all of them carrying placards and dressed in 18th century garb similar to him.

"Hey! Hey! Ho! Ho! Walker's gotta go!" a contingent of opposing Kretchell supporters shouted from the opposite end of the spectrum, the crowd held back by riot cops sent to provide security.

In addition to the police, RCNN-13 also had a news van on the scene, where reporter Cora Ricardo was on hand to cover the developing events.

_"Robert Kretchell has a secret abortion clinic set up in his basement and he eats small puppies for breakfast!" _the P.O.O.P.'s speaker shouted into his megaphone as the Kretchell supporters attempted to drown him out with their repeated chanting.

_"Robert Kretchell is a pedophile and dresses in his daughter's underwear! He also likes to molest farm animals in his spare time and he wants to give free education and healthcare to the poor!" _the man's last comment drawing loud boos from the Walker supporters.

_"Ron Walker is a decorated war veteran who loves America and if Rushmore City were a beautiful young maiden he would be asking for its hand in marriage!" _the speaker shouted, _"Walker will not tax the wealthy! Ron Walker is tough on street musicians disturbing the peace! Ron Walker will stand up to gays and lesbians attempting to convert your children to their foul sacrilegious ways! Ron Walker will fund a space program aimed at launching all the Atheists into outer space! Ron Walker believes you should love an unborn fetus the way your uncle loved you in the broom closet when you were a small child! Ron Walker will shut down those hippie vegan grocery stores in favor of a chain of World of Coq steakhouses! A vote for Ron Walker is a vote for happiness!"_

Artie could only shake his head at the stupidity of the situation and was about to walk back to his car when he could feel his phone vibrating and pulled it out to see Iceman was calling him.

"What's up?" he had to shout over the chanting of protestors.

_"Are you anywhere near the LaFollette district?" _the weapons dealer called out.

"Are you fucking psychic or something? I'm there right now. I'm over in Arnold Square near that protest," Artie replied just as a fistfight started between supporters from the rival factions, which soon resulted in a domino effect of attacks leading into one huge knockdown, drag out brawl.

_"Stay where you are. I'm coming," _Iceman replied before the line went dead.

"Okay," Artie muttered to himself as two S.W.A.T. Enforcers rolled in followed by a riot tank, the latter of which spraying down several protesters with a water cannon while other officers fired tear gas canisters into the crowd. _"Your ass better get here soon," _he thought as he watched a small group of officers kicking the crap out of a long-haired man on the ground while he was being stunned by a taser.

A loud buzz caught the hired gun's attention and he turned to find Iceman racing towards him on a silver and blue Sanchez dirt bike, pulling a picture perfect stoppie 180 as he came to a halt.

"Get on! We have a job to do," the weapons dealer called out, "While you're at it, take these!" he said offering his friend an MP5 submachine gun affixed with a silencer and a black satchel filled with C-4 charges.

"What's going on?" Artie demanded climbing onto the back of the bike.

"Colt's got a contact who tells him there's a massive weapons shipment the military is bringing in on a civilian train and he wants to expand his stock. He's offering ten thousand to each of us for a job well done," Iceman explained as he drove through the streets and then moved onto a woodland trail that would provide them a shortcut to Roosevelt Hills.

"Why the hell are they bringing it in on a civilian train?" Artie asked while holding on tight.

"Apparently they don't wanna draw suspicion from the locals. This is some really advanced shit from what the guy was saying, real space age," Iceman replied.

"And just how are we going to be transporting all this 'advanced space age shit?'" Artie asked looking down to the Sanchez they rode on.

"Sid is on his way with a truck as we speak, got some guys with him too. They can help us out," Iceman replied as they came to a wooden bridge.

"Going after the U.S. Army? Man, you are one crazy motherfucker," Artie replied.

"Crazy? Heh, 'adventurous' is more like it," the smuggler replied as a wolf darted across the trail, temporarily catching Artie's attention as Iceman pressed forth down the wilderness trail.

"Whatever you say, you're the one with the death wish. I'm just along for the ride," Artie replied as the raced up another hill.

"You starting to pussy out already?" Iceman taunted, "I thought you had a pair."

"Well the people we were going after the last time were just a couple bums off the streets, these are trained fucking killers we're talking about here," Artie replied.

"Heh, you say that like it's a bad thing. Don't you believe in taking on a challenge every now and then?" Iceman laughed.

Artie shook his head as Iceman raced towards a set of railroad tracks, "Alright, there it is!" he shouted as the tail end of a silver train came into view, "Get ready to jump!"

"What the fuck do you think I am? An Italian jumping bean?" Artie asked looking towards him like he was bat shit crazy.

"I need you to get on that train and work your way to the front. Kill the engineer and bring the train to a stop so Sid and the boys can get the truck ready!" Iceman shouted as he got closer to the caboose, "Now just get ready to jump!"

"You owe me for this!" Artie shouted back as he brought his other leg over and attempted to get into a proper position on the wobbly surface.

Iceman said nothing and inched closer to the train until he was licking at the end and did what he could to ease his friend towards the rear platform.

"Now!"

With a mighty 'oomph' Artie leapt from the bike and grabbed onto the platform's railing, pulling himself onto the platform and breathing deeply as he found himself on somewhat stable ground.

"I'll cover you from here!" Iceman called out with a wave.

Artie used the butt of his silenced MP5 to break the door's handle and pull himself inside, finding himself in a car lined with racks, all of which were carrying green boxes.

Letting his curiosity get the best of him, he opened one of the boxes to find it lined with Mk 48 machine guns, causing him to let out a low whistle.

"Not exactly 'space age technology,' but still badass nonetheless," he whispered and looked into another crate to find it carrying FIM-92 Stinger missile launcher, "I hope Colt needs everything 'cause he could be sitting on top of a goldmine in here."

Artie was startled as a door opened behind him and whirled around to be met by a soldier clad in full combat gear.

"What the fuck?" the man blurted out dropping his coffee and scrambling for his M4, only to be cut down by a muffled barrage of armor-piercing rounds.

"Not today G.I. JOE," Artie said shaking his head as the man's radio sparked to life.

_"Barnes, how do things look back there? Do you copy?" _a voice called out causing the hitman to curse quietly.

"Only gonna be a matter of time before they're storming this place," he told himself grabbing the man's M4 and his SIG P226 sidearm.

Artie opened the door to the next car, only to find himself hugging the wall as another soldier took notice of his presence.

"We've got an intruder!" the man screamed before letting loose a volley of hot lead.

"Thank you Iceman," Artie grumbled sarcastically as more soldiers joined in the assault, sparks flying as their bullets struck the metallic surface around him.

"You are interfering with official United States Armed Forces business. Surrender at once and no harm will come to you," another soldier called out.

_"You should've said that before you jackasses started shooting," _Artie thought to himself looking over to the soldier he had just eliminated moments earlier and noticed the fragmentation grenades attached to him. Reaching over he quickly grabbed one and swiped it away, pulling the pin and tossing it towards the soldiers.

"Oh shit!" a third soldier called out.

"Fire in the hole!" another shouted, followed by a loud explosion that blew out several of the car's windows.

Artie peeked back into the car and opened fire upon the grunts, cutting down one in a hail of gunfire and sending another slumping into a nearby seat with his side torn open, soon to bleed to death.

"You're gonna pay you terrorist bastard!" another soldier shouted before firing repeated bursts from his M26 M.A.S.S. (Modular Accessory Shotgun System) until he was forced to reload. The man had been caught with his pants down as he struggled to insert a new box magazine, leaving him open to be cut down in another barrage from the hired gun.

"Your punk ass is gonna be so beyond F.U.B.A.R. when we're through with you," another soldier called out, followed by repeated cries of "Hooah!" from his comrades.

"You talk tough for a 'weekend warrior!'" Artie shouted back before he was forced to take cover behind another row of seats, sticking the barrel out to fire another burst.

The shatter of glass came from the other car followed by more gunfire and cries of pain from several of the soldiers and the hitman peeked his head out to see them having turned their attention to a new threat. Raising his rifle he let loose firing another barrage until the last man fell.

He entered the next car and looked over to see Iceman riding alongside with an MP5 in hand.

"Speed it up! My dead grandmother is slower than you!" he shouted.

"Try telling that to them!" Artie shouted back as another soldier popped into view and opened fire, forcing him to slide for cover behind some seats.

"Tango is pinned down! Repeat, tango is pinned down!" the soldier shouted and there was a loud _'clunk' _as a fragmentation grenade landed alongside him.

"Oh shit," Artie called before bolting out of his hiding spot, raising his submachine gun and firing wildly over his shoulder before the grenade detonated, sending him flying forward and skidding along the floor until he collided with the corpse of his first kill. Pain ravaged his body, but he wasn't bleeding nor were any of his bones broken. He had to pushed himself back to his feet knowing he was a sitting duck and was again forced to take cover between the two cars.

"I'm gonna be getting a medal when I bring your rotting carcass in boy!" the soldier taunted, crawling along the floor to avoid the volley being fired upon him by Iceman. Unfortunately for him, it left him wide open for Artie to fire a burst directly into his face.

The hired gun pushed himself back to his feet and bolted down the freshly cleared cars until he came to a reinforced door that required an electronic key code for opening.

"Until now," Artie whispered to himself pulling out two C-4 charges and placing them at both sides of the door, hooking up the necessary wires for arming them before he took cover in the next car and pushed the button to detonate the explosives, blowing the door off its hinges, but also leaving him open to another barrage from the waiting soldiers inside.

"Our fallen brothers will not die in vain!" shouted a soldier raising an M249 S.A.W. (Squad Automatic Weapon) light machinegun and firing a barrage at him, forcing Artie to run backwards as the high-powered rounds ripped away at the floor before him and followed after him. The hired gun managed to leap behind another partition and went to fire, but his rifle clicked empty and he was forced to reload.

"C'mon out motherfucker, you're a dead man either way!" the machine gunner hollered before firing another barrage meant to intimidate him.

Artie peeked his rifle's barrel out and fired another burst when the man stopped, causing the soldier to fire even more wildly in his direction and letting out a mighty battle cry, until his weapon jammed on him at the worst possible time and the hired gun was free to fire another salvo which knocked the gun out of the man's hands and ripped apart his abdomen.

With the gunner out of the way Artie was free to enter the heavily secured car and found another space lined with racks filled with cases, these of which were filled with reinforced crates secured by electronic locks.

"So this must be the 'space age' stuff that Iceman was talking about," Artie remarked scratching his chin.

Meanwhile, up at the very front of the train the engineer sat near the controls with a rifle ready upon hearing an intruder had somehow made his way aboard the train.

"Damn it. I told the Colonel he should have had this stuff transported in by helicopter, but no, the pompous bastard insists on wanting to 'toughen his men up' and show them the 'finer arts of espionage.' Heh, my ass!"

The engineer had been so caught up in his thoughts he turned around, only to find a Biff dump truck had come to a halt at the upcoming railroad crossing.

"Oh shit!" the man screamed leaping over and pulling back on the brake as hard as he could, the train's wheels letting out a deafening metallic screech and the car quaking violently beneath him as he kept pulling back as hard as he could.

Sadly, his efforts would be for naught when the locomotive collided head on with the abandoned dump truck, resulting in a fiery explosion of twisted metal.

"What the fuck?" Iceman muttered to himself bringing the Sanchez to a halt while surveying the damage, until he was distracted by the roar of muscle car engines.

"Those sons of bitches," he grumbled as he spotted a Redcoat Clover speeding into view, followed closely by two of their Burritos.

"Alright boys, grab what you can!" a red-clad gangbanger shouted, revealing that the stalled dump truck had been part of a trap set up by them.

"Wait, we've got company!" another Redcoat called out, "It's the Cubans!"

"How the fuck did they know about this?" another asked reaching for an AK-47.

"How the fuck would either one of them have known about this?" Iceman asked as three Cuban-owned Hermes rushed into view, followed closely by a black and orange Moonbeam. The Cuban vehicles skidded to a halt and within seconds their orange-clad members were exiting, returning fire with FN CAL and L85A2 assault rifles and Calico M960 submachine guns.

It wasn't long before the remaining soldiers aboard the train had taken notice of the ensuing gunfight and joined in, their beef being with both opposing sides.

"Shit, I've gotta get Artie," Iceman whispered to himself pushing down his kickstand and rushing over to the train, where he climbed between one of the cars and smashed the porthole open with his MP5's stock.

"Man, this must be some really powerful stuff with the kind of security precautions they have installed," Artie spoke up as his friend entered.

"Hopefully nothing that Randy can't bypass," Iceman said observing a long and narrow case and then similar ones lying nearby. "The Redcoats are out there and so are the Cubans and they're shooting it out with the soldiers. I say we hang back and let them kill each other and then we pick the bones."

"Sounds perfectly fine with me," Artie replied moving into the next car to see another soldier armed with an M249 S.A.W. tearing through several of the gangsters before two Cubans would gang up on him and then make a beeline for his light machinegun, which prompted Iceman to raise his MP5 and fire a burst into the man's chest just as he was bending down to pick it up.

The three warring factions expended much ammo as they shot it out amongst themselves with no side showing any signs of giving up, the soldiers determined to protect their cargo and both of the rival gangs determined to steal it for themselves.

One of the soldiers had managed to sneak up on a Cuban thug in an orange bandana and blood-spattered wife beater, grabbing the man from behind and slicing his throat open with his Recon 1 Knife, tossing the dead man into one of his brothers before gunning down another criminal with his SIG Sauer P226, only to become engulfed as a Redcoat struck him with a Molotov cocktail.

"Here comes the pain you wetback bitches!" another soldier cried firing repeated blasts from his Mossberg M590A1 at some Cubans who had attempted to take cover behind their Hermes, firing until flames were creeping out from beneath the hood and taking cover before it could explode. The plucky trooper would be cut down by a barrage from a Redcoat just a second later.

"Come get some!" a beret-wearing trooper shouted firing a barrage from his MP5N while a buddy covered him with a CAR-15, both of them pinned down behind some large rocks, yet determined to fight to the very end as they found themselves outnumbered the combined might of Redcoats and Cubanos Locos.

"Suck on this!" the other soldier shouted pulling off one of his M67 grenades and chucking it over the rock, his arm being struck down from underneath by a rapid fire barrage.

"Medic!" the man screamed as he fell into the tall grass clutching the severed stump where his lower arm had been before going into shock.

"You motherfuckers!" the submachine gun-wielding soldier screamed rising to his feet and firing a nonstop barrage that managed to cut down several of the warring gang members, until his gun clicked empty and he was dropped by repeated rounds from an FN CAL.

In spite of their valiant efforts, the remaining soldiers realized they had bitten off more than they could chew and they were being pushed further backwards as the remaining gang members pressed forward, having temporarily forgotten their struggle with each other.

"We are under attack! We need backup at once!" one of the soldiers screamed into his radio, just before a three shot burst obliterated his face. The nameless trooper's death was quickly avenged as one of his colleagues cut the perpetrator down with a continuous barrage from his M4, taking down three more gangsters with him, until Iceman snuck up and knocked him out cold with a hard pistol whip to the back of his head.

"For all they would know, it was either a Redcoat or a Cuban who did this to him," the smuggler spoke to Artie as the numbers on all three sides were gradually thinning out, all of them having sustained heavy casualties.

"Fucking die you cocksuckers!" another soldier shouted launching a grenade with his M203 and succeeding in destroying one of the Redcoat Burritos and killing the last remaining thugs to be seen.

"All hostiles accounted for?" a man in a green beret called out, only to be cut down by a barrage of fire along with the rest of his remaining men.

"Now they are," Iceman chuckled, the barrel of an M240B smoking before him, and pulled out his cell phone, "Sid, where's your lazy ass at? We've cleared a path for you and the boys. Get over here now!"

"Damn, I thought Uncle Sam's boys would've put up more of a fight. Guess I was wrong," Artie remarked looking along a bloodstained ridge littered with the bodies of military men, Redcoats and Cubanos alike.

It wasn't much later when a Mule was pulling into view and backing itself towards the train. Sid emerged from the driver's side carrying an AA-12 automatic shotgun accompanied by five additional thugs.

"Alright boys, let's get this stuff loaded up. We don't have much time to waste!" Iceman ordered grabbing an electronically-sealed crate and lugging it over to the truck.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With a mighty heave, the final box was loaded into the back of the Mule and Iceman wiped away the sheen of sweat from his forehead.

"Alright, get inside boys. We're getting the hell outta here," the gun runner ordered, just as one of his men fell dead next to him with a fresh crater in his forehead.

"Shit! Sniper! Get down!" he shouted leaping for cover behind one of the train cars as another bullet pinged off the delivery truck's surface.

Artie dove for cover behind another car and saw the brief flash of sunlight reflecting off of glass in a nearby bush. Another one of Iceman's guys fell as a round tore through his shoulder and he was left to writhe on the ground, his buddies knowing the man was trying to bait them into trying to save him.

The hired gun still had some ammo left in his M4 and fired in the direction of the bush, but didn't know whether or not he had succeeded in hitting the marksman, firing until his clip ran empty.

"Looks like that prick didn't come alone," Sid called out hearing the flutter of helicopter wings in the distance as he tried to sneak along the opposite side of the truck, but was driven backwards by another round from the sniper.

Artie saw what the punk rocker was talking about and his eyes widened as an Annihilator flew into view and could hear the whirr of its mini-guns starting up.

"Look out!" he screamed while diving for cover.

The high-powered rounds tore apart the earth and right away the wounded henchman and two others were cut down in a flurry of screaming lead.

Iceman cursed to himself as he hit the deck, his group now down to himself, Artie, Sid and a hired gun called Beetle, all of them scrambling for cover as the chopper rained hellfire upon them.

Beetle had been carrying an AR-15 Armalite and attempted to return fire, but unfortunately he had been too slow and literally found himself shoved through a blender as the copter's high velocity rounds shredded him apart from the inside out.

Iceman's blood boiled as he watched his last man fall and looked over to find a crate in the back of the Mule with its lid knocked off, revealing an M202A1 rocket launcher.

"Jackpot," the gun runner exclaimed pulling himself into the cargo bed just in time to avoid another flesh tearing barrage. Finding some incendiary rockets he quickly loaded them into the barrels and waited for the chopper to come closer, guided by the sound of its blades. "Come to me you bastards," he whispered while hefting the launcher onto his shoulder.

He could hear the rattle of the copters mini-guns and the booms of Sid attempting to return fire, listening intently until he swore the chopper had flown past and stepped out with the rocket launcher raised, firing a rocket which struck the bird dead on and sent shards of jagged burning scrap metal flying in all directions.

"C'mon, we've gotta get going!" he shouted as a Patriot spun into view with a .50 caliber machinegun turret mounted to its rooftop, firing another rocket head on into the approaching vehicle before the driver even had a chance to open fire.

Iceman threw himself into the driver's seat while Sid climbed in next to him and strapped themselves in, while Artie was still attempting to take down the sniper.

"Artie, forget about that douchebag! We need to get the hell outta here!" the dealer shouted firing up the Mule and turning the radio's knob so the blazing riffs of Unearth's "Watch It Burn" blasted throughout the corpse strewn countryside, a proper song for the violent occasion.

The hitman could hear the smuggler calling out to him and looked over his shoulder to see the Mule in motion with its rear shutter opened. Through the window at the back of the cab he could see Sid frantically waving him forth as two more Patriots sped into view with their turret guns blazing. Forgetting about the sniper he bolted towards the fleeing delivery truck as the bullets tore away at the earth around him and with a running leap of faith, launched himself into the container.

"Okay, he's in!" Sid shouted over to Iceman.

The smuggler nodded and slammed the gas pedal down to the floor, utilizing some crafty maneuvering to avoid being rammed by the Patriot, a miracle given the notoriously sluggish handling of a Mule.

"Artie, you're gonna have to hold those fuckers off while we get back to Colt's!" Iceman shouted over his shoulder while getting the truck back onto the nearby road. "There's a rocket launcher back there, use it to slow those fuckers down!"

He took notice of the same M202A1 Iceman had been using earlier and loaded two additional incendiary rockets, waiting for one of the Patriots to get back on the road before firing a rocket which caught it in the side and sent its flaming husk tumbling sideways down the road, the other barely missing it as its driver entered the blacktop.

"Are you fucking killing them back there? Or are you pissing your pants like a little bitch?" Iceman called back to him.

"Get off the rag and drive!" Artie shouted back as the other Patriot came speeding towards them, close enough to where he wouldn't be able to fire without catching the Mule in the blast radius. The S.U.V. rammed the delivery truck hard and caused one of the crates to spill out onto the highway.

Fortunately for Artie, he still had some of his MP5 ammo left and he fired towards the turret, taking out the gunner before directing his fire towards the windshield and fired a cluster of rounds which tore the driver's chest and throat apart before the submachine gun clicked empty and he let it clatter out of the back as the military vehicle spun out.

Iceman breathed heavily as he made a sharp turn on the off-ramp, nearly causing the top-heavy vehicle to roll over. He honked his horn wildly at the '84 Phoenix ahead of him, but the muscle car wouldn't budge.

"Fuck this shit," he said continuing to push the truck to its limits before coming alongside the muscle car and sideswiping the dark blue vehicle, causing it to spinout and crash into the nearby median. "I almost feel sad for doing that…that was a beautiful car," he said to his employee.

"Oh fucking shit!" Sid screamed and pointed ahead of them, where two military Patriots had somehow gotten ahead of them to form a barricade at the ramp's exit, soldiers clad in full combat gear firing upon them with M4 Carbines and rattling the front of the truck with bullets. The punk rocker attempted to return fire through the shattered windshield, but the truck rocked violently and he was unable to get a proper shot.

"What the fuck's going on up there?" Artie shouted back.

"Don't worry about us. Just watch our fucking ass!" Iceman shouted back as he made a suicidal charge towards the barricade.

"Boss, what the fuck?" Sid screamed.

"Now's not the time to be a bitch!" Iceman hollered back gunning the engine and continuing his full throttle charge, the soldiers clearing out before he could slam head on through the blockade.

The delivery truck jolted violently and Artie found himself thrown backwards, hitting his head hard against the cab's metal interior.

"Gah…damn it!" he screamed as crates fell on top of him, "Damn…you…Iceman…" he groaned weakly as he struggled to steady his vision.

The wail of a police siren caught the hired gun's attention and he looked up to see a patrol cruiser speeding towards them at a frantic pace.

"_This is the Rushmore City Police Department! Pull over at once or else we are authorized to use lethal force!" _the officer shouted over his megaphone.

"Get that fucking pig off our tails Artie!" Iceman shouted as he plowed head on into a Vader sports bike, sending the driver flying several feet into the air and splattering against the side of an apartment complex. Unfortunately, that act was carried out within the view of an officer mounted on an HPV-1000 police bike. Forgetting about the other motorist he was in the process of issuing a ticket to he joined in on the pursuit.

"Christ, these assholes are like a bad fucking case of herpes!" Sid shouted as he fired upon the motorcycle officer, eventually striking the man's front tire and sending him falling head over feet to the pavement.

"Tell me something I don't know," Iceman shouted back as the truck was rammed from the side by another police cruiser.

"_Surrender at once and we might just let you live!" _the officer called out.

"_Hey, remember what the watchdog groups said, we can't talk like that during pursuits!" _his partner called out, _"The department can't afford another police brutality lawsuit."_

Artie raised the rocket launcher to fire at the cruiser pursuing them, but the truck was again rocked violently and the projectile soared harmlessly over the car and into the side of a textile shop.

"Will you fucking be more careful? Can't you see I'm trying to cover your ass?" he screamed to Iceman as the launcher nearly slipped from his grasp.

"Well it's hard to drive like you're in the country when you've got all these fucking cops around you!" Iceman hollered back, gripping the steering wheel with one hand as he fired upon the pursuing officers with his MP5, severely damaging a Serrano luxury S.U.V. that had been passing through an intersection.

Artie shrugged off the outburst and again attempted to steady the launcher, hastily squeezing the trigger and sending a rocket flying head on into the patrol car, overcome by the intense wave of heat as it exploded in a brilliant blinding flash.

"You get the fucker?" he could barely hear Iceman shouting to him, his ears ringing after the close proximity blast and his sight slowly returning after the flash.

"Hey, are you fucking deaf?" Iceman hollered, "Did you get those pricks?"

"Yeah…I got them," Artie grunted while struggling to keep his balance.

It wasn't much longer until they were arriving in the Stilsen district and Iceman was taking a left-hand turn into the alley alongside the Ammu-Nation and Artie finally allowed himself to slink into a sitting position while the gun runner honked the Mule's horn twice. A garage door at the back of the building opened and he slowly pulled inside, quickly getting out and running over to push the button that would lower the shutter.

"Well, well, well, Iceman you badass motherfucker you!" Colt called out and walked over to give his longtime friend a hearty pat on the back, "Once again you pull through. I'd tell you impress me, but I think I've already said that too many times before. If I said it again you'd probably think I was trying to sweet talk you like a Red Light whore."

"Sure thing, a few more bumps in the road than we expected, but still got the job done," Iceman said making his way around to the back of the truck, where Artie was still breathing deeply after barely holding off their attackers.

"I see you brought the lightweight along for the ride, or does he always sleep on the job like that?" Colt laughed.

"Fuck you jackass! You have no idea what the fuck we just went through," Artie grunted using a nearby crate to support himself as he rose back to his feet, "Not to forget, the Redcoats and those Cuban fucks somehow found out about the shipment."

"I sent you on the fucking mission didn't I? Of course I knew what the fuck you boys would've been going through, and you kill all of those fuckers, didn't you?" Colt spoke in his usual condescending tone towards the hired gun as he walked over to the nearby refrigerator and pulled out two Blowenkoch beers, taking one for himself and handing the other to Iceman, "I'd give you one too, but I don't have an itty bitty Sippy cup around for you."

"Any idea how those fuckers could've found out about the shipment? More importantly, how they could've known it was being transported on a regular civilian train?" Iceman asked using his combat knife to remove the bottle cap.

"I have no clue son," Colt replied before taking a long swig, "My buddy's pretty good about tying up all the loose ends before he lets me know these things. There must've been a rat somewhere, that's my only wild guess," he said before looking over to Artie, "Then again, Dago Boy over there probably attracted him with all that cologne the big shot 'made men' wear."

"Just shut the fuck up and give us our payment already," Artie snapped, "Iceman said you'd promise ten thousand for a job well done. We can back with a truck full of guns, didn't we?" he said motioning towards the shot up Mule.

"Heh, you that eager for one of those high end manicures they give away over in Sawyer Gardens?" Colt laughed walking back towards his office.

Artie finally had enough of the proprietor's insults and grabbed a machete off a nearby workbench, only to stop as Iceman stepped in front of him.

"Whoa there! Take it easy six-shooter," the smuggler said snatching the weapon from his hands.

"What the fuck's wrong with that asshole? I know you said I'd be shit to him until I proved myself, but we just fucking killed God knows how many Redcoats and Cubans, not to mention U.S. freaking Army soldiers and survived! You mean to tell me that isn't even good enough for him?" Artie demanded.

"You never know with Colt," Iceman said looking back to the man's office, where he could be seen biting a chunk out of a headless boa constrictor he had recently cooked on a grill, "He's an unusual character, so you can never tell when you've finally won his approval. Believe me; he still treated me like dog shit after I managed to steal a whole shitload of RPG-7s from some Colombians over in Spruce City, yet it took me gunning down some scrawny defenseless shit over in Bellowfield to make him happy, all because he was pissed over the guy selling him some faulty scrap metal."

"I'd surely consider that fucked up," Artie replied before Colt emerged from his office with two stuffy envelopes in hand.

"Alrighty boys, here you go," the gunsmith said handing both men their rewards, "Ten thousand big ones for the both of you, hopefully you can do more with that Patriot of yours," he said nodding to Iceman before smirking towards Artie, "Don't go blowing that on your boyfriend all in one sitting, I ain't no sugar daddy remember."

"Fuck you," Artie grunted walking off before Iceman followed after him.

"You need a ride back to the bar?" Iceman asked catching up.

"Nah, take me to LaFollette. I left the Sentinel over there," the hired gun replied.

"Sure thing," Iceman said as the duo made their way towards his waiting Patriot.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: This was another mission I thought up spur of the moment because the chapter after this wasn't going to be very action-oriented and I didn't wanna put you guys to sleep with two 'downtime' chapters back to back, so I thought this up to keep the blood pumping.

The Pissed Off Organized People (P.O.O.P.) Party is obviously meant to be a spoof of the Tea Party movement and the scene at the political rally was inspired by the 'Steering the Vote' mission from "GTA: Liberty City Stories."

Regarding the actual hijacking itself, I drew inspiration from the 'Wrong Side of the Tracks,' 'Robbing Uncle Sam,' 'Highjack,' and 'Catalyst' missions from "San Andreas."

Blowenkoch is intended to just be a parody of German-named beer in general, more specifically the Leinenkugel beer that is brewed right here in Wisconsin. I figured using a German-sounding name could be a good way to disguise more sexual innuendos, that or it could be a double entendre because it could sound like "blow and coke" in drug terms.

The scene with Colt eating the dead boa constrictor is inspired by some gameplay footage I saw of Naked Snake eating a snake from "Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater," especially seeing as Colt himself is a former military man and I wanted to show him as not being in his right mind obviously.

Well that does it until then so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	16. First Date

Chapter 16: First Date

Artie parked the Sentinel in front of the bar and made his way inside to find Zeke at his usual post behind the counter.

"Hey Artie, how's it going?" the bartender called out while in the middle of pouring a beer for a patron. Aside from the dark-haired man, the only other people present were the woman he had been playing pool with and then he noticed Randy over at the dartboard playing with Pukin' Pete.

"Oh, hey Artie," the former Cluckin' Bell cashier called out before tossing a dart towards his target, "Ha! Bull's-eye…and literally too!"

The hired gun looked over at the electronic dartboard to find a picture of teenage pop sensation Dustin Beaver pinned to the board, his picture full of holes, including the dart Randy had just driven through his right eye.

"The usual?" Zeke asked approaching his friend.

"Nah, get me an eCola for now," Artie said taking a seat at the bar and looking up towards the TV set, currently broadcasting a horse race from Derby City.

"Oh and before I forget, some Gladys lady called up looking for you," Zeke said pulling a sticky note from his pocket after handing him his soda, "said she wanted you to give her a call when you had the chance."

"Gladys called here?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, she sounded pretty hot too for someone with an old lady's name," Zeke replied before looking warily towards Pukin' Pete, who wobbled as he stepped up to toss his dart at Dustin Beaver's smug visage.

"Whoa, don't be pointing that thing at me!" Randy squeaked falling to his knees with his hands in front of his face.

"Alright, thanks Zeke," Artie replied before finishing up his soda, just as Pukin' Pete collapsed to the floor with a loud thud.

"He's gonna blow!" Randy hollered rushing towards the counter and throwing himself over, nearly knocking over Zeke in the process.

Artie and Zeke looked towards the fallen drunkard ready for what was likely to follow; only to breathe a collective sigh of relief as a loud belch escaped the man's lips.

"I'll talk to you guys later," the hired gun said setting the empty can on the counter and then making his way outside and rounding the corner into the alley and walking past Gino's parked Greenwood before making his way up the stairs to the apartment.

Aside from Gino's snoring in the other room the apartment was quiet so Artie pulled out his cell phone and shuffled through his contact list, the woman's name still listed as 'Sunny.' He hit the speed dial and waited patiently as he listened to the ring tone on the other end, a click sounding after the third ring.

_"Hey Artie," _she spoke, her tone warm and enthusiastic like she was truly happy to see him.

"Hey Gladys, I got a message that you called so I figured I'd get back to you and see what was up," the Italian-American spoke as he casually reclined against the kitchen counter.

_"Yeah, I just wanted to drop a line and see if you were alright. I know we didn't exactly see each other under the most pleasant circumstances the other night and I just hoped you weren't mad at me," _the ex-hooker replied, worry seeping into her tone.

"No not at all! It wasn't your fault don't worry about it," Artie said trying to assure her of her innocence, "I just got a little carried away with that prick. He was fucking with my family and I got pissed. It happens when any bastard tries to start shit with someone I care about. I tell you, I ever see that prick again and he wants to start shit up, I'll be daring him to bring it," he spoke until catching himself, realizing he was beginning to go on a rant, _"Damn it Artie, you're starting to sound like one of those Liberty mobsters who talk a big game and then bite off more chew in the end."_

_ "Well I'm glad to hear you're doing alright," _Gladys replied, _"I'd truly hate to see something bad happen to you. I know you've been through a lot since you arrived here."_

"Yeah…I have," Artie sighed in emphasis, "but I'm thankful for the consideration. Believe me I am, it's more than I've gotten from the other pricks and crazies in this city."

_"Yeah, well hey Artie, I was just wondering…" _the lady paused briefly before continuing, _"…I know you've had it pretty rough since you've been here and I was just thinking to myself…you know maybe we could get together if you wanted and go someplace. There are plenty of fun things to do around the city…that's if you're not doing anything else."_

_ "Damn, I've already fucked her once and then I saved her from a pimp, now she takes the time to ask me out on a date? Not exactly the series of events I envisioned, especially with a former prostitute of all people…" _he thought to himself until her voice snapped him out of it.

_"Artie…are you there?" _she called out, _"Oh god…was it something I said?"_

"No, no I'm here Gladys!" he half-shouted back, "I'm here…it-it's just that I've had a lot of stuff on my mind, but sure, if you're up for it I'd be happy to get together and do something. You're right, I really should get out and do something, take my mind off of things."

_"Okay, well I can be ready in about an hour. You'll have to pick me up 'cause my car's in the shop. I think you should still remember where I live. I don't think you're too far away from me," _Gladys spoke, sounding relieved that he was still interested in doing something with her, _"I'll be looking forward to seeing you then!"_

"Sure thing, see you in a bit!" Artie said before switching his phone off.

_"So that settles it, I've got myself a date…with a former hooker…I doubt Ma and Pa would've thought very highly of that. I really should've thought it over before answering," _Artie thought to himself staring down at his phone, _"Hmmm, then again she's right, it would be a welcome distraction from all the other shit I've been dealing with here in this hellhole…at least I will be until the blockade is lifted."_

Artie made his way into the bathroom and removed his current set of clothes, reeking of ash and gunpowder, tossing them aside and climbing in for a quick shower. Once that was done he grabbed a towel and dried off, then making his way over to the sink to brush his teeth and then go over his face with an electric razor he purchased recently.

Walking into the living area he turned on the TV before making his way over to the wardrobe, the current programming interrupted by a late breaking news broadcast.

_"…at this point there is still no word on the amount of casualties involved in the earlier incident, which local officials are describing as a 'military training exercise gone wrong,'" _Artie overheard just as he was in the middle of applying some deodorant before reaching over for the control and turning the volume up.

_"Typical government, always keeping their people in the dark," _Artie thought to himself as the scene depicted the aftermath of his carnage, where several Army soldiers clad in hazmat gear were seen pushing local residents backward, including several attempting to record the ensuing cleanup on their camera phones.

_"According to representatives from Fort Rushmore, the military has been conducting extensive training operations in preparation for another possible terrorist attack like the one which recently occurred at Churchill International Airport, which was believed to be the work of foreign militants. In a statement from official spokesperson Major Dominic Giraud, they have been attempting to make their latest round of urban combat exercises 'as realistic as possible,'" _the Weazel News correspondent was reporting just before she was interrupted by a hippie in a plaid shirt.

_"I'm telling you lady, this is some genuine black ops shit you're seeing right now, like what goes down at Area 69!" _the man shouted out before being tackled to the ground by a soldier.

_"Citizens do not be alarmed, there is no conclusive evidence this so-called Area 69 exists! Please immediately disavow anything this 'gentleman' has just said in his drug-induced stupor," _another soldier shouted to the camera.

"Yeah, of course not," Artie sarcastically remarked before applying a spritz of cologne.

_"Due to the amount of damage involved it has been announced the off ramp connecting Lincoln Island to Roosevelt Hills will be shut down for the rest of the day as cleanup of the training exercise continues," _the lady reported, much to the disgust of the crowd in attendance.

_"Jesus Fucking Christ, it's bad enough a bunch of fucking Arabs decided to bomb the shit out of the airport and now we can't get back to our beloved Roosevelt Hills? What the fuck is this world coming to?" _shouted a burly bald-headed man in a green t-shirt, _"I mean, I thought Mayor Walker got rid of all those ragheads to begin with!"_

_ "Except for that bastard over there!" _shouted a blond-haired country bumpkin in a tan vest, who pointed towards an Indian man wearing a red turban.

_"No please, I am legalized American citizen!" _the man pleaded as four citizens ganged up on him and wrestled him to the ground.

"Some people," Artie said shaking his head as he shut the TV off, having already picked out his outfit consisting of some black silk boxers, tan socks, beige chinos, tan undershirt, green and brown striped knit sweater and some dark brown dress boots. He finished things by strapping on a leather banded watch and picked up his Glock 22 from the nearby nightstand. Knowing how things could be around this city, it was safe to assume even being on a date wouldn't prevent some form of chaos from occurring.

_"And if that happens I'm going to be so pissed off," _he thought walking over to a nearby mirror and running the comb through his hair one last time. _"Alright Artie, now you're really ready to knock 'em dead," _he told himself with a smirk, _"As long as Gladys doesn't have some kind of S.T.D. that'll knock you dead first," _he thought with a slight grimace, but then had to remind himself that the Southern woman didn't remind him anything of the other loose women he had seen throughout his years in the big cities.

_"She's just got this…aura about her that tells me she's not like everybody else. Why do I think this? I honestly have no clue," _he thought grabbing his wallet, keys and cell phone before exiting the apartment.

Stepping out into the cool air, he listened carefully for any indicators of Freda's presence, but when he heard no moans, snoring or vomiting he knew the coast was clear and made his way down the flight of stairs towards his waiting Sentinel.

_"I seriously have to kill that ugly bitch one of these days," _he reminded himself while unlocking the driver's side door and climbing inside. Turning the car on he shifted through the radio stations before settling upon the Techno Playground FM station, currently playing "Satisfaction" by Benny Benassi. He made one last look as he pulled out onto Hymen Avenue, which looked almost normal aside from some black streaks marring the surrounding buildings, a remaining telltale sign of the bar's brave stand against the invading Redcoats.

"Guess it's as normal as it can be," Artie said aloud while watching a drunken bum stagger about, nearly tackling a scantily-clad Asian woman as he tripped and hit the pavement.

"Yep, just as normal as it can be," he repeated to himself, until he heard a horn blaring and brought his car to a screeching halt.

"Watch where you're going, faggot! I just had this car repainted!" called out the owner of a lime green '86 Declasse Voodoo.

With no time for bullshit Artie drew his Glock and pointed it at the furious motorist, who cried out and terror and slammed the gas pedal down, weaving his way recklessly through traffic to escape.

_"Typical asshole who thinks he's got a bigger Johnson than he really has just because he owns a fancy car. Heh, saw plenty of those pricks with the Ancelottis, all flash with nothing to back it up," _Artie thought to himself while driving past Shocker Electronics.

A patrol car was parked out front with its lights flashing and he watched as two police officers hauled a scrawny nerd out kicking and screaming while a C.S.I. tech carefully placed an Ithaca 37 shotgun into a large evidence bag.

"You can't do this to me! Do you plebeians have any idea who I am? I am Ferguson the Almighty!" the geek called out as he was shoved into the back of the squad car and it was then that Artie had recognized him from the Ammu-Nation firing range.

_"Guess he finally snapped," _the hired gun thought to himself as "Lapdance" by N.E.R.D. came on the radio.

The drive to Horgate was an uneventful affair and it didn't take long before Artie was pulling up outside of Gladys' apartment building, where he found the aforementioned blonde waiting for him on a bench and when he caught sight of her his jaw nearly hit the floor.

For the first time he finally had the chance to see her in something outside of her work clothes, a sundress that made her look like the simple, bucolic farmer's daughter-type her accent presented her as, yet it was elegant enough to make her a very beautiful 'modest country girl,' the only thing showy being the diamond earrings she currently wore.

_"She still looks beautiful to me," _he thought with a warm smile as she looked up from her cell phone and offered him a friendly wave before grabbing her purse and making her way towards his car. With the way she was dressed and didn't end up being raped, mugged or murdered, he assumed she must have been packing heat, remembering the passable shooting skills she showed when he and Iceman saved her from Cotton Dale's estate a while back.

"Hey handsome, how's it going?" she asked climbing into the car and reaching over to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Good to see you as always," Artie replied, catching himself before he could make a comment about the last time they were together, something he was sure she would have wanted to forget by now. "So what do you have in mind? Dinner? Bowling? Darts? Movies? Comedy club?"

"How about something else? I know of something really fun over in Gomorrah. Why don't you take me there?" she smiled before reaching over to turn the radio's knob over to Radio GX, now playing "Your Betrayal" by Bullet For My Valentine.

"What? Can't a girl rock out every now and then?" she asked with a seductive smile when noticing his awkward glance, making an 'air guitar' motion that finally made him crack a broad grin.

"Why the hell not? I swear pretty soon I'm gonna dye my hair blood red and start wearing all black with all the metal Zeke and Iceman have had me listening to lately," Artie chuckled as he shifted the car into drive, "So whereabouts in Gomorrah is this place?"

"It's over Blackbeard's, you know that big pirate ship?" she replied.

"Ah yeah, I remember now. Shouldn't be too hard to find them," he spoke while coming to a stoplight.

"So Artie…tell me more about you, I mean now you obviously have some time for idle chatter without all the other distractions around," Gladys asked in an attempt to break the ice.

"Well I am sitting next to a beautiful lady, isn't that considered a distraction right there?" Artie laughed as the light turned green.

"You're a funny guy, I like that," she smiled warmly towards him before allowing a tiny giggle.

"Thanks, but being serious with you, I was born in Las Venturas. My mother was a librarian and my dad…well he worked odd jobs here and there to make ends meet," Artie explained.

"Really? Well you don't strike me as much of the bookish type, so I don't think you'd really take much after your mother, no offense intended," Gladys replied.

"Yeah, well they both died when I was young and I was sent to live with my Uncle Leo and Aunt Sophie in Mendelsohn, Wisconsin," Artie continued.

"And you definitely don't strike me as much of a small town Midwestern boy either," Gladys giggled.

"Heh, and you didn't strike me as much of an interrupter either," Artie chuckled before continuing, "Anyways, I lived there until I graduated from high school and then I went to college over in Beanton, but that didn't work out…so I sort of drifted back and forth for a few years between there, all around San Andreas, Carcer and Liberty City, working a few odd jobs like my pops did."

"You must have compiled quiet the resume then. Whatever you did, somewhere along the line I bet you must've learned quite a bit with all that shooting you did back at the estate," the young lady replied.

"Yeah, a lot helped…" Artie replied feeling a little disgusted as he remembered the sleazy pimp and what he would have possibly done to Kenna and the other ladies had they not intervened. He also wanted to avoid getting too much into his past back in Liberty as he found himself doing quite a few things there he wasn't proud of.

"Hey, I used to walk the streets around here. You think that's something I'm proud of?" Gladys asked looking at him, almost like she could read his mind, "Whatever you did around those places I don't think I'm in any position to judge," she said rubbing his arm.

"Thanks," he muttered.

He could sense the sincerity in the woman's words, but it still felt awkward for him.

"Okay, take a left up there," Gladys said pointing towards the Jupiter's Palace casino.

Artie took a left as he was instructed and found an open helipad to the right of Blackbeard's where there were three black and gold Mavericks waiting.

"Risin' Shine Helitours?" Artie asked.

"Yeah, I've always wanted to take a helitour around the city, unless you're a pussy and are afraid of heights," Gladys laughed playfully poking him in the side.

"It's fine with me, definitely one of the more interesting first dates I've been on," Artie replied pulling into a parking stall and getting out.

The couple ascended the stairs to the helipad, where they found themselves in line behind a balding obese man with a half-consumed bucket of Cluckin' Bell chicken in his hand, eating so furiously he coughed up bits of partially-eaten chicken all over the Japanese tourists standing in front of him.

"You still think this is such a good idea?" Artie whispered to his date while staring uneasily towards the fat man.

"I'm positive," she replied as an employee with a headset stepped up.

_"Hello ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of my co-workers I would like to thank all of you for choosing Risin' Shine Helitours as your destination for fun and excitement in Rushmore City._

_ "We please ask that you be fully aware Risin' Shine Helitours, Inc. is not responsible for any injuries or fatalities that will likely occur during your ride and that you please keep your hands, feet and all other objects inside the cargo area while the ride is in motion. Thank you very much and enjoy your ride!"_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Artie groaned in anguish as he strapped into his seat, doing what he could to push the fat man's rolls off of him.

Unfortunately he and Gladys had been forced to ride with the morbidly obese man as there were only three passengers allowed per ride and due to issues with gravity, the big guy had to sit between them, really ruining any chances he had of getting to know the woman better.

"Man, I can't wait 'til we touch down. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse right now," the fat man, who identified himself as Donald, exclaimed and ended up coughing large bits of chicken onto his plaid shirt, but thankfully nothing onto either of his fellow passengers.

"Uh, you just ate," Artie replied as he did what he could to avoid the man slobbering on him.

_"Is everybody ready to go?" _the pilot called out.

"Yeah, we're ready please just get us going!" Artie called out before Donald could whine about the lack of food.

The copter slowly ascended as the other two did and within moments the three helicopters were flying off in different directions.

_"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, my name is Hal and I will be your pilot for the night. Tonight it is a clear and mild night here in good ol' Rushmore City; there you see the famous Rushmore skyline to your left. If you have cameras now would be the ideal time to start snapping pictures," _the pilot reported as they flew through the early dusk sky, the multitude of different colored lights making the city look like one huge Christmas tree.

_"Over to your right below you, you will see the wreck of the U.S.S. Icarus, which has stuck out of the lake as a sort of monument for the last thirty years. Legend has it that the ship's captain was in the midst of engaging in some kinky sex game with an Albanian prostitute and due to him being stuck with an inept crew of drunken Irishmen, lazy Puerto Ricans and Koreans who couldn't speak a lick of English, the ship was believed to have collided with the remnants of a 19__th __steam freighter and thus overturned to become the eyesore that it is today," _the pilot explained.

"Ooh! I wanna see!" Donald cried out reaching over Gladys' lap trying to look over her and in the process throwing the chopper off balance, while Artie was unable to see over the man's bulk.

_"Hey settle down back there fat ass! We don't need another lawsuit!" _Hal shouted from up front.

"I'm not fat, I'm big boned!" Donald protested.

_"Well then you must have a huge bone up your ass!" _Hal laughed, prompting snickers from both Artie and Gladys.

"Not fair asshole!" the obese man cried back.

The pilot ignored the fat man's outburst and continued with his tour spiel as they flew over an island off the coast of Roosevelt Hills.

_"Beneath you is Hoochimama Island, named after the Hoochimama Indian tribe who settled there centuries ago, wiped out after its males were plagued by a sudden wave of testicular cancer, thus rendering them sterile and leaving them unable to produce, followed by the first white settlers arriving and using their primitive 'male enhancement' methods to show the ladies a good time and thus lure them away from the island and into extinction._

_ "It is said that the spirits of the scorned males still haunt the island and on quiet nights, you can still hear them calling out 'We're not limp! We're not limp!' It is even rumored that a lone shaman still resides on the island and is attempting to find a means of restoring his tribe back to its former glory. Due to the fact that we learned that from some drunken asshole at the Three Leaf Clover over in Bellport, that story is debatable, unless there's something on Leakipedia that we don't know about."_

"Ooh," Donald called out sniffing the air, "I smell bacon!"

A second later he let out a loud fart that left Artie and Gladys both gagging.

"Now I smell brownies!" he added.

There was nothing more said as the helicopter turned around and flew back to the helipad minutes later.

_"That concludes this tour of the Rushmore City skyline. Please check your seats thoroughly…to make sure you didn't leave…any personal effects behind. Thank you for choosing Risin' Shine Helitours and we sincerely hope you ride with us again in the future," _Hal called out before throwing off his helmet and puking onto the metal surface beneath him.

"Okay, maybe that didn't go so well," Gladys said trying to fan away some of Donald's rancid stench.

"You think?" Artie scoffed, "Christ, I'm gonna smell like a port-a potty for a week now…yeesh!"

"Hey, don't feel too bad," Gladys said grabbing him by the arm and pulling herself close, "There's a Japanese restaurant over in Crystal Waters I've been to before. Why don't we go there instead?"

"Yeah, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea after all," Artie said looking over his shoulder and hearing a rumble emanating from Donald's considerable gut. Without a word he grabbed his date by the hand and made off towards the Sentinel before the overweight man could blow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kuso Kastle was the name of the restaurant Gladys had taken Artie too and much like its name, the building looked like a traditional Japanese castle on the outside.

On the inside there were low-lying tables where guests sat on large pillows and were surrounded by the paper thin shutters associated with typical Japanese establishments, in addition to the rooms being decorated by paintings of various figures in the ancient country's history, as well as mythical beings, and various forms of statues and pottery. The waitresses were all clad in multi-colored kimonos and there were several men dressed in Kabuki outfits dancing about with fans while another man played "Sakura Sakura" on a traditional koto.

"This seems like a pretty nice place," Artie said while looking over his menu.

"I've been here before and from what I remember their sushi was to die for," Gladys replied closing her menu as a waitress came with their drinks in hand.

"Are you ready to order?" the young Japanese woman asked with a pen and notepad in hand.

"Yes, I would like an order of Temakizushi with some Murasaki soy sauce and a side of udon noodles," Gladys said handing her menu back.

"And you sir?" the waitress asked.

"Get me some tonkatsu and I'll take some udon noodles on the side too," Artie replied handing his menu back to the waitress, who bowed before disappearing into the nearby kitchen.

"So now that we have more time to sit here and chat, why don't you tell me more about yourself?" Artie asked before taking a sip from his drink. "Where do you come from? What school did you go to? You know, I'm open to chatting about anything really."

Gladys looked away towards a man in a lion-like costume with fiery red hair and his face painted red and white, dancing gracefully with a fan in each hand as the other patrons sat amazed by his fluid movements. The hired gun was going to call out her name, but then he saw a look of unease written across her features and he backed off, assuming she would only get annoyed if he prodded her further.

It wasn't long before their food arrived and they were finally able to dig in.

"So…" Artie tried starting up, but again found himself hitting brick walls as he tried to think up anything he could to discuss with the young woman, the bulk of what could have been an interesting conversation shot down before it could ever take flight.

"How's the food?" Gladys asked changing the subject.

"It's definitely more delicious than I thought it would be," he said taking a bite of his tonkatsu, "Definitely better than I expected."

"You've never had Japanese food before?" Gladys asked before eating a piece of sushi.

"Well, I almost did a few years back," Artie cleared his throat before explaining, "I was out at this place in San Fierro with my Uncle Giacomo and my cousins Raphael and Bianca, needless to say poor Raph was a virgin to Japanese food himself and he tried some sushi for the very first time, right away he was sick to his stomach and spending the rest of the night on the toilet, made me gun shy ever since."

Gladys laughed loudly at the comment, "Damn, he must've been quite the lightweight then!"

"Yeah, that was nothing new for Raph though. You should've seen him when we stopped by an Albanian place in Los Santos," Artie trailed off, "I'd tell you more, but you'd end up losing your appetite."

Gladys shook her head, "I grew up around six male cousins and believe me, I've heard it all. Nothing is too disgusting for me. Trust me, if you told me that he ended up shitting out his stomach, liver and lungs all in one sitting I'd laugh my ass off before I'd be revolted."

Artie covered his face upon hearing this, struggling to hold in his laughter and clenching his eyes shut so hard he could feel tears creeping out from the corners.

"Don't tell me you're fucking pussying out on me too," Gladys laughed harder to the point she was beginning to receive odd stares from the other patrons, only quieting down when she realized how much of a commotion she was beginning to make.

_"Why does she need to be so secretive with me?" _Artie thought to himself as she resumed eating her udon noodles, _"She's obviously a very pleasant and down to earth individual who seems very accepting in nature, not to mention she also seems to loosen up really easily and could probably make anybody she wants laugh when she puts some effort into it. Why should she have to assume I would treat her any differently? It's not like I'm some judgmental prick who would write her off the second I learned about anything she did in her past."_

The sound of rock-influenced chords caught the hitman's attention as Gladys called out "Hey, I love this song!"

Towards the small stage at the front of the room was a skinny man in a green kimono that had out a shamisen and was attempting to play Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water," yet Artie couldn't decide whether he was supposed to laugh or cringe at the man's terrible playing, wincing whenever he hit the wrong high notes. Gladys though seemed to be enjoying herself and was humming along with the melody.

_"Well if it makes her happy then that's all that matters," _Artie thought to himself as the waitress came to take their empty plates and left a bill on the table for them.

"Now that we've got this out of the way, is there anything else you wanna do?" Gladys asked as he picked up the bill.

"I don't know, I'm open to anything really," Artie replied while leaving a couple bills out for a tip.

"How about dancing?" Gladys suggested.

"What?" Artie asked staring towards her wide-eyed.

"Are you going deaf on me already? You heard me," Gladys laughed before narrowing her eyes towards him with a wicked smirk.

"I don't know if that's really the best idea," Artie said feeling his cheeks burning up.

"Got two left feet?" she taunted.

"No, it's just that I haven't danced in a very long time…and I mean a long time," Artie said looking away and rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I don't wanna embarrass myself in front of a whole bunch of people. I'm in no mood to become a MeTube sensation."

"Aww, so you're a big badass hitman, yet you're afraid to dance?" Gladys teased him some more, "Relax honey, a couple drinks and you'll be tearing up the floor!"

"Heh, yeah something's gonna be getting torn up alright," Artie muttered looking down to the floor.

"C'mon, quit being such a downer!" Gladys said rising to her feet, "Look, I'll wait for you in the car while you're being a gentleman and paying for dinner," she said before walking off.

"Well then be a sweetheart and unlock it first," he replied sarcastically tossing her his key ring with the door opener attached.

Rising to his feet he made his way to the lobby and approached the cashier to pay his bill.

"Was everything well for you tonight, sir?" the cashier asked in thick broken English as she accepted his money.

"Very much so," Artie replied just as he heard an electronic ding indicating he was getting a text message, "Arigato," he said stepping away and pulling out his phone to see it was from Donnie.

_"Cuz where the fuck have you been? You're missing out on all sorts of fun shit," _the message read, followed by an image of two twin Asian ladies sitting side by side in a bubble bath with their breasts covered by the suds.

Artie sighed heavily before making his way outside, interrupted from his thoughts by a loud scream.

"Gladys," he whispered to himself, making his way into the parking lot to find the waitress being accosted by a dark-haired man in a plum-colored suit.

"Get off of me you fucking pervert! I told you I wasn't interested!" Gladys screamed before slapping the man hard across his face, only to be halted as a bigger man in a dark blue suit and shades stepped up and clamped down on her wrist.

"I see you got spunk! I love that in a lady!" the plum-suited man laughed before grabbing her and tossing her onto the hood of the Sentinel, "Playing hard to get only makes me harder baby!"

"Hey Boss, I recognize this wench," the bigger man spoke up, "She's that Sunny chick. Louie says she's an animal."

"I'm not into that shit anymore!" Gladys snapped, "Now leave me alone you fucking bastard!" she screamed, only to receive a hard backhand from the plum suit.

"Just shut up and take it!" the man said reaching down to rip her top open.

"Leave her alone!" Artie screamed charging towards the two men.

"Artie, help me!" Gladys cried before the smaller man clamped down on her throat.

"Fuck him up Vinnie," the creep ordered as he continued wrestling with the ex-hooker.

"You got it boss," the bodyguard called back reaching into his pocket and slipping a pair of gold-plated brass knuckles onto his right fist.

The bigger man took a swing at Artie, but the hired gun ducked low and wrapped his arms around the man's waist, tackling him backwards into a parked Super Drop Diamond, causing the luxury convertible's alarm to go off.

"You son of a bitch!" he screamed as he drove his right fist repeatedly into the big man's gut, but somehow the bodyguard worked through the pain and delivered a hard elbow strike to his upper back before grabbing and spinning him around, pinning him against the car and delivering a right cross to Artie's cheek before backhanding him hard, the brass knuckles cutting into his cheek.

"Damn right! Make 'em black and blue!" the suited man laughed while struggling with Gladys, who by now had managed to get her hand up and clawed away at his face.

"You fucking cunt!" the man screamed before slapping her hard repeatedly.

"Time to die, bitch boy!" the bodyguard chuckled before landing a few more blows on Artie and tossing him across the hood of a silver F620 and sending him tumbling to the pavement.

The man had been much stronger than Artie had expected and out of desperation the hired gun fumbled for his Glock 22 and finally grasped the handle, raising the gun and pointing it at Vinnie, finally forcing him to a halt.

"You just fucking stay right where you are you fucking dickless prick!" the hired gun screamed before turning his attention to the man assaulting Gladys, who backed up only to receive a hard kick to the groin for his troubles.

"You goddamned fucking bastard!" Gladys screamed pushing him hard against the dark blue Buffalo behind him.

"Both of you get your fucking asses out of here before I start shooting!" Artie screamed pointing his gun back and forth between both men, "Don't fucking think I won't do it!" he shouted before squeezing the trigger, his round sailing past Vinnie's head and taking out a streetlight.

"C'mon Vinnie!" the smaller man called out to his associate before turning to Artie, "Don't think you'll get away with this punk! When my family finds out about this, you're gonna be dead! You hear me you fuck? You're a fucking dead man walking!"

"And you're gonna be a dead man walking if you don't start comprehending English and get your fucking worthless ass out of here!" Artie shouted back again squeezing the trigger and firing a round through the Buffalo's windshield.

The nameless man and his bodyguard both climbed into the dark blue muscle car and sped away.

Gladys collapsed against the Sentinel and sobbed bitterly with her face buried in her hands as Artie approached and helped her back to her feet, pulling her close and letting her cry into his chest.

"Oh my god Artie, I was so scared!" she sobbed, "He would've raped me if you hadn't been there for me. Thank you so much!" she cried pulling her face away, only to find it covered in blood.

Artie looked down to find his knit sweater covered in blood and looked into his own reflection to find several gashes in his face after having been worked over by the bodyguard.

"That son of a bitch," he hissed as Gladys finally noticed the extent of the damage done.

"Oh my god…we have to get those wounds treated," she said pulling a handkerchief out of her purse and applying pressure to a still leaking rend on his left cheek.

"C'mon, we need to get back to my place. I have a first aid kit I can treat those cuts with," Gladys replied before bending down to pick his keys up off the pavement, "I can drive us there."

"No, I'll drive-" Artie protested only to be sharply cut off.

"No! You're hurt and you're in no position to be driving right now! Let me drive, please!" Gladys pleaded opening the driver's side door and climbing in, "You can have a nice warm cup of coffee while you're at it."

"Fine," Artie sighed conceding defeat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gladys' apartment had been nicer than he expected. It wasn't a shithole dive similar to the crack houses and rundown brownstones of Liberty City, yet at the same time it wasn't something you would have found in a housekeeping magazine. Like Baby Bear's porridge, it was just right.

Artie sat on an aged, yet comfortable couch with his shirt off and his legs stretched out, feeling at home.

In front of him was a simple, yet clean coffee table and beneath it was light blue carpeting that was free of any large stains and vacuumed on a regular basis. Compared to where he lived right now, this was a place he would have died to live in.

A loud beep sounded from the kitchen, indicating the coffee was ready. Within seconds Gladys emerged with two steaming cups in hand, now wearing a grape-colored robe.

"Thanks for your help," the hired gun said accepting the cup; his face now cleaned up and bandaged.

"You're welcome. It was something I could do to pay you back for what you did for me back there," Gladys said

"Anytime," Artie nodded before sipping his coffee, sighing at the warmth before looking around, "This is a nice place you've got here," he said while trying to make some friendly conversation, looking over to a portion of wall covered in pictures taken from magazines and calendars, all of them showing beautiful rustic landscapes that made him think of the camping trips Uncle Leo took him on when he was little.

"Thanks, I've been living here for two years now," Gladys said looking around, "It's not much I know, but it's still a roof over my head."

"It's something at least and that's all that matters," Artie said before taking another swig, "The apartment above my cousin's bar might be a shithole, but I guess when I stop and smell the coffee in the end, or whatever kind of shit it is up there, I've gotta realize it's still something in the end."

"You said it best," Gladys chuckled crossing her legs, looking very seductive as the hired gun was able to make out the tone within them.

Quickly taking his eyes away to avoid looking like a pervert, he looked towards her TV set and saw a lone photo perched atop it, one of Gladys in a white dress along with a younger redheaded woman in a royal blue graduation cap and gown.

"Who is that if you don't mind me asking?" Artie asked pointing to the photo.

"Oh that…" Gladys' voice trailed, "…that's me and my sister from a few years back, her high school graduation. I haven't seen her for a while though…"

"I'm sorry to hear that," Artie said looking to change the subject, "So with me you obviously know that I live above a shithole bar and have two cousins, one of whom is a piss poor liar with delusions of grandeur and the other a two-faced womanizer…," he trailed on, until catching himself.

He remembered the uncomfortable look Gladys gave him when he attempted to bring up her past back at the restaurant and again found himself staring blankly into space. "Sorry," he muttered.

"You want to learn more about my past again, don't you?" she asked.

Artie exhaled deeply, "Sorry, I remember how you looked at me back at the restaurant. I won't ask, you can forget about it."

"Don't worry about it. I don't know if I really have much to say about myself that would be of great interest to you anyway, just a lot of heartache by the number. At least you made the effort to _try_ talking to me. A lot of guys around here just wanna get straight down to business," Gladys said leaning back in her recliner.

"Well guess I have a dick that does know when to rest," Artie laughed, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

Gladys smiled and nodded, "Yeah, you're definitely different compared to most of the guys around here. Maybe it's a good thing I decided to talk to an outsider for once," she said setting her cup down on the coffee table and rising to her feet, looking towards the photograph.

Taking a deep breath she started, "I didn't always live here in Rushmore City. I'm originally from the South. My father owned a construction company and my mother was able to be a homemaker thanks to his success. She stayed home and took care of my little sister and me.

"Life was good…until my father decided he'd rather fuck our housekeeper than love my mother…" she finished, a tear creeping out from the corner of her eye.

"Wow, that's some pretty deep shit," Artie replied.

Gladys ignored his comment and continued on with her story, "My Uncle Sam though, he was close to my mother and when he found out what my father did, he blasted him in cold blood, right in front of us. Needless to say, he ended up being sent away for a very long time."

Artie sat in stunned silence at the revelation and it took him a couple moments for his mind to piece together any words he could say, hoping to avoid tripping the trigger that would send her on an emotional downward spiral that would reduce her to a blithering mess.

"What all happened afterward, if you don't mind me asking?" he blurted out, _"Goddamn it! You're only going to make things worse!"_

Gladys took another deep breath and continued, "My mother, sister and I all went to live with my grandmother. Poor Mama had to go work in a diner, her first time ever having to work. She did what she could for us though and Grandma had some money to help us out too. Papa left it to her after he passed.

"Things really started looking up though when Uncle Judd started coming around again."

She then walked over to a small cabinet and opened the doors, pulling out a picture of herself as a teenager with a heavily-tattooed man in a biker's vest with an AK-47 in hand, both of them reclining against a Hexer motorcycle.

"That's my Uncle Judd. He was in the military until he got dishonorably discharged and then ended up running around with some outlaw biker gang for a few years until he got caught. He got out of prison just before we came to live with them."

_"That's gotta explain where she knows her guns from," _Artie thought to himself eying the AK-47 as she sat the picture next to the one of her and her sister.

"I loved my Uncle Judd. He became a second father to Dixie and I and served as the primary breadwinner. How he got our money, I honestly don't know and never even bothered to ask. All I knew was that he kept a roof over our heads, food in our bellies and clothing on our backs, and overall, he was determined to send both of us to a damned good university once we got out of high school."

"Wow, I can tell he was very important to you," Artie replied, "I was thankful to have my Uncle Leo and Aunt Sophie around after what happened to my parents. If it weren't for them, I probably would've gone through hell in an orphanage."

"Yeah he was, and if any boy wanted a piece of us, they'd have to go through him first," she laughed before continuing her story, "When the time finally came for me to graduate, I managed to get into Southern Delta University. I wanted to be a doctor and he was going to do whatever he could to get me through, sending me money every month."

_"Man, this poor woman really has fallen from grace, going from being an aspiring doctor to the streets," _Artie thought as he felt the sadness creeping into her tone.

"Everything was going well…until some cowards shot him from behind and left him for dead."

"Any idea whoever did it?" Artie asked. The news wasn't too shocking for him as he closely studied her tone and gestures' knowing it was hard for her to talk about. At the same time, she was determined to tell him everything she could.

"Some old biker rivals of his. I believe they used to roll with the Angels of Death…fuckers got away too. Not too long after that, my mother and grandmother were both killed in a car accident and then my sister disappeared…" she spoke, sounding on the verge of tears, "I had to leave because some creepy old guy tried to force me into marrying him. All I remember after that was traveling by any means I could until I got here…"

Artie genuinely felt bad for the woman and sat down next to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "You truly sound like you've been hit with a streak of bad luck and believe me, I'm terribly sorry for your losses Gladys. Believe me, I've seen plenty of people die all around me and not just based upon the kind of life I live."

"So have I, Christ Artie, I should've never become a hooker, but at the time I didn't have much choice. I had no job, no friends and no money when I first came here! Believe me…it's not like I enjoyed having sex with random men all the time! I really would like to settle down one day…have a husband, have kids, a dog; have a house in the suburbs with the flower garden and white picket fence!"

The woman was now crying uncontrollably and buried her face into his chest. Artie did whatever he could to comfort her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her closely, "It's going to be okay Gladys. Please, I know it's something you probably hear a lot already, but please just believe me that things will get better within due time."

"How can I believe that?" she asked him, her blue eyes bloodshot, "I'm surprised you can even bear to be in the same room with me after what I used to do for a living!"

"I don't look down upon you for what you used to do. Believe me, I don't," he said taking her hands into his, "You were dealt a bad hand in life and you're not the only person. It's never too late to get out of such a position…look at Iceman's cousin Kenna, she's doing what she can to make a better life for herself! It's not like you don't have the chance to do the same, I mean look at you now. Sure your job you have right now probably isn't the best, but at least it's an honest job and it's a great improvement over being stuck on the streets.

"Besides, with what I do for a living I'm honestly surprised you can bear to be in the same room as me. Most people would have taken off running a long time ago."

"Why did you come here?" Gladys asked looking into his dark eyes, "Were you running from somebody?"

Artie looked back wordlessly, amazed at her intuition.

_"How could she have known?" _he mentally asked himself while looking over her shoulder towards a picture of the Statue of Happiness posted amongst the nature photos, standing out like a sore thumb to him.

"Oh my god…did I go too far?" Gladys gasped placing a hand over her opened mouth.

"No, no it's fine," Artie said looking down and taking a deep breath before continuing, "Actually I was."

He knew it was now or never and that it would only have been a matter of time before somebody found out. _"Might as well get it out while I still remember every explicit little detail," _he told himself.

"I killed a man who had powerful connections," Artie explained, looking back to the window behind him to make sure nobody was listening in, feeling a sudden surge of paranoia.

"It's okay, you can tell me Artie. I promise I won't tell anybody," Gladys said gently rubbing his hand.

Artie took another deep breath before continuing, "Back in Liberty City, I worked for the Messina Crime Family. I did a lot of small end jobs for them at first: stealing cars, babysitting Harry Hall's ladies, roughing up a few union stooges that wouldn't comply, and shaking down businesses for protection money.

"Eventually I was 'promoted' to hitman and helped them mostly with taking out members of the Triads, Spanish Lords and low level drug dealers trying to make a name for themselves. There were also a few remaining members of the Ancelotti Family running around giving them trouble and they wanted me to deal with them.

"The boss wanted me to take out this prick named Rocco Pelosi and so I ended up tracking him down to some shithole over in Carcer City and blowing his fucking head off, along with some other schmucks. I thought that would be that…boy was I wrong."

"What happened then?" Gladys asked staring more intently.

"One of the other guys I killed was Andy Volpe, the son of our capo Mark Volpe. Granted, him and his old man didn't exactly have the ideal father-son relationship, but whatever he was doing with Rocco Pelosi of all people was far beyond me. Needless to say, he wasn't too thrilled with me offing his own flesh and blood. He sent his younger brother and a small goon squad after me, but I knew something like this was likely to happen and I managed to get the drop on them, killed every single one of those fuckers."

Gladys gasped softly and gripped his hand tighter as Artie again looked towards the window, almost expecting to see some sniper perched on a nearby rooftop.

"All I could do after that was get the hell out of Liberty. I took all the money Fredo had on him, got a plane ticket and came here to Rushmore with nothing but the clothing on my back," Artie finished, finally allowing himself to collapse against the couch and relax. It felt so good to finally get it off his chest and he could only breathe deeply at this point.

"Guess I can't feel too bad then," Gladys laughed before reaching over to kiss him.

The kiss was much more intense than expected and the next thing he knew, she was forcing herself on top of him and slowly opening her robe to reveal nothing underneath.

_"Should I really be doing this after what we just went through?"_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends another installment of my story, not much action (of the gun-slinging kind) but still good for furthering the story and introducing an element GT4'ers are familiar with, plus I figured I would be nice to Artie for once and let him actually get a piece without having to pay for it.

Dustin Beaver is a spoof of Justin Bieber and the scene with Randy and Pukin' Pete tossing darts at his picture is inspired by the opening of the third chapter in "Bully" where Jimmy and Petey are tossing darts at some guy's pic when one of the Greasers walks in to talk to them.

Derby City is inspired by the Kentucky Derby and Mendelsohn is meant to be a spoof of Madison, Wisconsin, which isn't far from where I live. Beanton is supposed to be Boston and was inspired by its nickname "Beantown."

The Helitour activity in this chapter is inspired by the helicopter rides you could do with Brucie in GTA4 and it was beyond me why it couldn't be done as a dating activity.

Donald was inspired by Ronald Shiner, one of the survivors you have to rescue in "Dead Rising." For those who might not know or remember, he's that fat guy you find in the restaurant whom you have to bribe with food to get to follow you and then later on he threatens a mutiny and then you have to bring him back more food or else he will take all the blue room survivors with him.

The line "I'm not fat, I'm big boned" and "someone's baking brownies" were both inspired by Eric Cartman from South Park and the line "Then he must have a huge bone up his ass," is also inspired by the same show, which I think was made by Kyle and directed at Cartman.

The U.S.S. Icarus is inspired by the Thermopylae from "Saints Row: The Third" and the mention of the "bondage game gone wrong" with the Captain was inspired by the opening scene from GTA4 when you see that guy on the Platypus getting whipped by the dominatrix.

The Hoochimama tribe's name is a play on the phrase "Hoochie mama" of course.

Leakipedia is a parody of Wikipedia and the Three Leaf Clover is going to be the name of an Irish pub and its name is inspired by the bank robbery mission of the same name from GTA4.

"Kuso" means "Shit" in Japanese and I added it in keeping up with Rockstar's tradition of toilet humor.

Well I believe that's all for my random notes so until next time read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	17. A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

Author's Note: Obviously this title is supposed to be a rearranging of the words in the expression "A wolf in sheep's clothing."

Before I go farther I will be giving a few shout outs:

**SlayerDarth: **I'm glad I could at least give you some form of amusement with my means of lampooning Justin Bieber in the last chapter and yes the hippie from that scene was indeed inspired by the Truth. I forgot to mention that the scene with the nerd Ferguson still trying to act macho as he was being led away by the cops was inspired by the ending of "Superbad" in which Fogel a.k.a. McLovin was led away by the cops thinking "it would get him so much ass." Sorry to disappoint you with the bit about Artie whacking Rocco, but I personally thought he was a douche and really seemed to get his kicks from bullying people around, so I basically gave him what I thought he should have had coming, but that's just me though. I'm also glad I could make you laugh with the Tea Party spoof as well.

**Afro Spirit:**__I do watch the show "Gangland" and I am familiar with that F.S.U. group you mentioned. I do think they had a cause worth fighting for with going after the Neo Nazis and yeah I thought that Oleg from SR3 was pretty cool despite his unrealistic physical portrayal.

**Native Gunz: **I fucking loved Zimos from SR3 and I laughed so fucking hard in the portion where he's introduced in that bondage gear and having to pull you along in that horse cart for that low speed chase! Hell, I laughed even harder when you had to shoot up the gimps and they would explode like they were cars!

**blondebabe800: **Thank you for the support. Yeah I figure with all the chaos and bloodshed around him it would at least be nice to give Artie something of a semblance of non-violent stability, hence my decision to give him an actual girlfriend, although if this were an actual game he would still be able to screw prostitutes on the side like Niko can in GTA4. I'm also glad I could give you the giggles with the political rally scene in "Bringing Out the Big Guns," the Tea Partiers in this country are huge fucking right-wing douche bags who deserve to be lampooned with their sheer idiocy and given GTA's penchant for toilet humor, I was given plenty of ammo when naming them.

Chapter 17: A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

Artie grunted loudly as he stirred awake, his nose caught by an enticing aroma, the combined sensual assault of scrambled eggs, bacon and French toast, something he hadn't had in a long time.

Slowly pushing himself up in bed he again grunted as he felt the lingering stings of pain in his face and looked over into a nearby vanity mirror where he could see the bandages all over.

_"Way to go Artie, the Mummy would be so proud of you," _he thought to himself before reaching down to scoop up his boxers and slide them on before making his way to the kitchen.

Gladys was standing in front of the stove wearing nothing but a faded Rushmore Juggernauts football jersey and turned to greet him with a warm smile.

"Hey Tiger, you're just in time!" she said placing his plate on a spot at the kitchen table set up just for him before walking over to the coffee machine to pour him a fresh cup.

"Definitely a woman of many talents, I like that," Artie laughed as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed him on top of his head.

"You only saw a portion of them last night," Gladys playfully giggled as she sat down before her own prepared meal.

The sex had been far more intense than he envisioned and the both of them ended up going at it like a couple of wild dogs in heat. Hell, he was surprised he was as wide awake as he was when he looked over to the clock to see it was only a few minutes after 10 a.m. and she had kept him up roughly until around 6 or so.

"Wow, this is delicious," Artie said with his mouth half full before taking another large bite out of his French toast and reaching over to pour more maple syrup onto it. He scarfed one piece down as quickly as he could and then eagerly jabbed his fork into the mound of scrambled eggs, but quickly caught himself when he realized how piggish he probably looked in front of the beautiful lady seated across from him, "Sorry," he blurted out, his cheeks turning bright red.

"Eh don't be, like the saying goes 'boys will be boys'," she laughed before taking another swig of her coffee.

"I know, but it's just that this is so delicious," Artie replied before taking a much smaller bite out of his bacon, "I remember Nonna cooking stuff like this for us when we went over to visit her in Florence. She knew Donnie wasn't always too keen on the traditional Italian breakfast meals, so after the usual string of cursing in Italian and smacks upside the head, she finally decided to make us a more 'American breakfast,' although I could tell it wasn't the ideal kind of meal to be cooking, she still did it because she loved us."

"Sounds like this Donnie you speak of has a natural born talent for pissing people off," Gladys laughed.

"Heh, you don't know the half of it," Artie scoffed, finding himself wondering what had become of the womanizing drunk.

"Yeah, my grandma used to make this for me and my sister too. I don't think I've told you, but I'm named after her," the ex-hooker replied.

"Yeah, my parents wanted to give me a traditional Italian name," Artie said before taking another swig of his coffee, "They were going to name me Maurizio after my great-grandfather, the first Cappelli to arrive in the New World. He was a painter who had come from a long line of winery owners, so guess they must've thought I was gonna grow up to be an artist or something.

"Well on the way to the hospital my dad got into an accident and they thought my mom was gonna pop right then and there. Luckily, a doctor happened to be passing by and helped deliver me. They ended up naming me Arthur after him."

"Yeah, from what you've told me your family sounds _very_ Italian so I was surprised they ended up giving you such a non-Italian name," Gladys remarked.

"Yeah, there are a lot of things that would surprise you," Artie chuckled before gulping down the last of his scrambled eggs, "Wow that was delicious. Thank you so much."

"You're very welcome," Gladys said stepping up to take his plate, "While you were sleeping I also took the time to wash your sweater for you. The blood wasn't as hard to get out as I thought it would be."

"That's good to know," Artie said reclining in his chair, "Anything else you're willing to do for me today?"

Gladys turned around giving him a wicked grin, "Well today is my day off from work, maybe we could do a little something more," she said walking over to him and lifting her jersey to reveal her smooth wax job underneath.

"You seem to have a habit for pushing the right buttons," Artie replied as she got down on her knees and removed his boxers, taking his manhood into her eager mouth.

He sat there with his legs spread, squirming as her lips tightened around his hardness and feeling himself nearly cum as she tickled the head with her tongue, but then she pulled her mouth off and began to stroke him while licking his balls and giving him a nibble that nearly made him fall out of the chair.

"Lord have mercy…" Artie gasped in pleasure as she began bobbing her head up and down, becoming more ravenous with her technique like a cougar pouncing a kid on the night of his high school graduation. He swore he could feel his climax coming when his cell phone suddenly rang.

"Goddamn it!" he spat seeing the phone's flashing screen and then looked back down to Gladys, who looked unsure if she should continue, "It's okay sweetie, keep doing what you're doing," he said reaching over to his phone seeing that it was Randy calling him.

_"For once I'm not letting this virginal loser be a cock blocker," _he told himself as he switched the phone on, only to be met by loud electronic zapping noises with some techno music playing faintly in the background.

"Hello?" he asked, but heard nothing for several seconds and wondered if it had been an accidental 'butt dial.' He was about to hang up when he suddenly heard strained deep breaths coming from the other end.

"Randy?" he asked.

_"I am so fucking pissed off right now," _the ex-Cluckin' Bell cashier grumbled from the other end.

"Randy, what the hell's going on now?" Artie asked before crying out and looking down to Gladys, "Sweetie, could you please hold up on the biting for now?"

"Sorry sugar," Gladys replied before going back to licking.

_"I'm sorry Artie, but I'm too fucking pissed off to talk right now. Why don't you come over and meet me at the Azonkalypse arcade over in LaFollette? Hopefully by then I will have blown off enough steam to be able to properly explain things to you," _Randy replied.

"And do I even wanna know how you plan to…ummm…mmm goddamn girl…b-b-blow off steam?" Artie groaned and squirmed more intensely this time, feeling he wouldn't be able to hold off on the forthcoming climax.

_"Ha ha very funny! Just meet me over here when you're done having a better time than I'm having," _Randy groaned before hanging up.

It was at that very moment Artie finally busted his load into Gladys' waiting mouth.

There were a few seconds of silence as the hitman relaxed in his chair and regained his breath while Gladys took the time to swallow down his load, "What was that all about?" she asked after grabbing a napkin and wiping her lips off.

"Just a friend…he needs my help," Artie replied taking a deep breath, "I'm sorry baby, but we might have to put our 'plans' on hold for the time being…ah what the fuck am I saying? It's not like his luck is bound to get better anyway."

"Don't worry sweetie, I understand. Your friend needs you," Gladys said rising to her feet, "I'm a patient girl, so there will be more of this waiting for you when you get back," she said lifting the jersey to show him nothing underneath.

"Well I'd better get my ass in gear then," Artie said barely fighting back the sudden hormonal rush as he quickly slipped his boxers back on and then ran back to the bedroom to get the rest of his clothes on. "I'll be back later," he called out before disappearing through the front door and bolting down the stairs to his waiting Sentinel outside.

_"Randy had so better make this worth my time," _Artie told himself as he climbed into the driver seat and switched the car on, filling the air with the fast-paced beats of the DAB 99 drum and bass station to help keep him awake.

_"I probably should've taken some antidepressants," _he thought knowing how depressing it could be to hang out with Randy sometimes as he forced his way around a Rumpo, ignoring the angry honks of the driver and quickly making his way back into the right lane before he could collide with an oncoming Feroci.

It wasn't long before he was on the freeway over to Jefferson Vale and passing through Lakeview to make his way to LaFollette, finding Arnold Square much less vibrant than it had been the last time he was there, although he did manage to spot some hooded figure tossing a brick through the window of Robert Kretchell's campaign headquarters, forcing the hitman to shake his head at the trivial act of stupidity.

Taking another left hand turn he found himself on the street containing the Azonkalypse video arcade, a small building between a Hi-Fi Hut electronics store and a Glassworx optical store designed to look like some kind of futuristic military base.

"Yep, this reeks of nerd alright," Artie said pulling to a halt outside the building.

He walked inside to find the building lined with arcade games, pinball machines, carnival-style games and even a section reserved for laser tag. Right away he found himself blasted by some loud J-Pop music and looked over to see two young ladies bouncing around on flashing tiles as they played Jig Jig Uprising.

_"Christ, I must be getting old if I think that music's too loud," _he thought to himself as he walked down an aisle of machines, where a scrawny guy leaned back and forth on a bolted down replica of an Akuma street bike, playing 'Road Burner.'

Along the way he was forced to leap backward as he passed a teenager playing 'Gimp Wars' (based upon the popular movie series), the guy's glowing dildo-shaped controller whipping backward and nearly striking him as he got too overzealous with his game playing.

"Fucking watch it will you?" he shouted as he walked passed and happened across another teenager with thick glasses and a retainer who was in the middle of playing 'Super Barrio Bros.,' a game he hadn't played in a LONG time and briefly stopped to watch the kid play.

The game's protagonist Camacho was being pursued by members of La Migra and happened across a joint, which gave him the ability to launch fireballs at his pursuers, Mariachi music ringing out following every successful strike.

Before he could get too much further into the gameplay he overheard the familiar nasally voice calling out.

"Gah! C'mon goddamn it!" Randy Spitz called out.

Artie rounded a corner to find the former cashier playing the arcade shooter 'Calamity Sector,' a game which came equipped with a controller shaped like an actual MP5-N.

At the moment he was in the midst of shooting it out with a futuristic bipedal battle tank while virtual civilians ran for cover all around him.

"C'mon! C'mon! C'mon!" Randy shouted as his gun ran empty and he stomped the pedal in front of him to reload, bringing up his character's ballistic shield in time to avoid a car being tossed at him by the walking tank. "Ha ha! I'm alive again! Let's go!" he called out slamming down a button that enabled him to toss a hand grenade at his opponent, who responded with a cluster of missiles.

"No! No! No!" Randy hollered, but was too slow to slam the reload pedal and his character was obliterated. "Gah!" he cried out as if he were really dying.

"Blown off your steam yet?" Artie asked walking up to his friend.

Randy did not reply right away, responding with heavy, labored breaths. "Let me think…NO!"

"Man, what's got you so pissed off?" the hired gun asked walking alongside his friend.

Randy took a few moments to compose himself before answering, "Some inconsiderate bastard has taken the liberty to talk shit about me on the 'Gamer's Planet' message boards!"

Again Artie found himself suppressing the urge to laugh, "Really? And you're pissed off over that?"

"This bastard's been jealous of me for years and this time he's taken it too far," Randy said shoving some kid aside who was in the middle of playing the 'Smack-a-Ho' and grabbing the jewel-encrusted mallet.

"He says-" Randy spoke just as the first ho' popped out of her hole, only to be knocked back down by a hard mallet strike (followed by an electronic voice saying _"Oh please baby, I won't spend my money on crack like I did the last time"_) "-that I suck hardcore at 'Denizen Foul' and…" *SMACK* "…that I'm the Despot's bitch…" *SMACK* "…my avatar on 'Planet of Pandemonium' was…" *SMACK* "…unoriginal…" *SMACK* "…and that he's seen better elves…" *SMACK* "…around Crypenbludd that…" *SMACK* "…were more intimidating than…" *SMACK* "…the love fairies!" and with a final smack the game was over and red lights flashed, followed by a loud klaxon as gold tokens spilled out from the machine's slot.

"Goddamn it I'm so pissed off right now!" Randy blurted out before he doubled over huffing and puffing, reaching into his pocket to pull out his inhaler and taking a few hits.

"I see, and do you have any idea who this guy actually is?" Artie asked grabbing the younger man by the shoulder and leading him towards the exit, "You mean, this is somebody you've actually met face to face haven't you? He's not just some faceless schmuck you only know from behind a computer screen?"

"Francis Fishman," Randy replied as they stepped out into the daylight, the former cashier wincing after not seeing any sunlight for hours, "but people call him 'Fishy.'"

"I can only wonder why," Artie sarcastically replied, "So what's the scoop with this 'Fishy' guy? Does he need to be taught a lesson or something along those lines?"

"No…actually he wants to meet me in a face to face contest and I've accepted his challenge," Randy replied.

"Umm…okay…so why did you call me then?" Artie asked, again looking the scrawny young man up and down and wondering if he would even be able to hold his own in a fight against a grade schooler.

"For moral support," Randy replied, "You're a big badass Artie and for some reason I've always felt so…empowered within your presence, almost like I feel…invincible!"

"Heh, you sure didn't feel that way when I was saving your ass from those robbers back at the Cluckin' Bell," Artie chuckled before doing his best attempt at impersonating Randy's whiny voice, "Oh god my life is shit! I don't wanna die!"

"Ha ha! Very funny," Randy groaned approaching Artie's Sentinel, "Can you please stop furthering my feelings of inadequacy and just drive me over to University Park? I have to show up by 1 o'clock or else he's going to think I pussed out and be inventing more reasons to cut me down on the message board."

"Fine, get in," Artie said deactivating his locks and climbing in to start it up followed closely by Randy, who quickly switched his radio station over to Symphony 104.1, playing Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons."

"Kid, don't you ever listen to any music made after the 18th century?" Artie asked coming to a halt at a stoplight.

"But this is how I get pumped up!" Randy exclaimed, "This is how I get myself in the mood to go out and as you would say 'rip somebody's head off and then shit down their fucking neck!' Whoo!"

"Are you kidding me? Ben Stein gets pumped up to this shit," Artie replied reaching for the radio knob, "If you wanna really get in the mood for killing somebody you would listen to this," he said switching the station over to 94.3 CSKD, which was playing "Mephitication" by Blood Red Throne.

Randy convulsed wildly at the sonic assault presented to his ears, quickly reaching into his pocket for his Lame Boy and switching on his 'Mighty Man' game.

"Gah! Now I'm really in the mood to go out and start killing things!" he said as a flurry of loud electronic beeps filled the car's interior, "Oh my god…I'm going into overdrive mode! I really want to start killing things now!" he screamed as if he were in the midst of a massive sugar rush, "Gah! That little girl over there…goddamn I could so take that ice cream cone, turn the son of a bitch sideways and shove it straight up her candy ass!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there! Calm down killer, save it for the park!" Artie said as he purposely ran a red light, wanting to get Randy to his intended destination before he would try doing anything to him.

"Oh god, the batteries on my Lame Boy just died…and when I was just one-hundred points away from Mighty Man getting Flaming Man's powers…gah, now I really wanna kill something!" Randy said reaching over and grabbing the steering wheel, jerking it violently to the right and causing Artie to nearly run over a lady out for a late morning jog.

"Randy, will you settle the fuck down?" Artie screamed shoving his friend off and switching the radio station over to Rewind FM, which was playing the far calmer sounding "Toy Soldiers" by Martika. _"Christ, I created a fucking monster within the span of seconds," _he thought looking over to Randy, who still giggled giddily, yet was slowly starting to calm down, _"I wonder how Zeke and Iceman can blast their music around him and it hasn't resulted in him shooting some place up yet?"_

University Park wasn't far from the arcade and the hired gun found himself pulling up to a park that in some ways reminded him of a smaller version of Middle Park from Liberty City. A basketball game was in full swing on a nearby court and not far from that there were a few college students engaged in outdoor yoga exercises.

"Alright, I think we're here," the hired gun said snapping his friend out of his 'trance.'

"Now to teach that little bitch a lesson in respect," Randy spoke in his toughest tone possible; at least he tried sounding like a tough guy.

"Yeah sure," Artie replied unenthusiastically as he followed the ex-cashier along a bike trail where a few cyclists past them.

"Oh and one more thing, he says I have to come alone, so I'm gonna need you to hide," Randy replied as he turned his head around to do a double take on a young lady jogging with her Border Collie.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Artie asked as they walked past a sitting area where two guys were playing chess and another had an easel out and was painting a scene of the nearby lake while a gaggle of swans swam across it.

"You haven't seen this guy Artie. He's a total wimp and very out of shape to boot. Hell, even I could probably take him down in one punch," Randy replied.

"Well he must be quite the weakling then if even you can kick his ass without breaking a sweat," Artie replied as they walked past a busker playing an acoustic guitar.

"Ha ha," Randy grunted as they approached an open area filled with various statues, "Okay we're almost here, find a place to hide and I'll go deal with him."

"Right," Artie whispered back and hid behind some bronze sculpture that almost looked like it was made of clay, yet its plaque said it was supposed to be a physical representation of human agony, agony on the eyes the hired gun thought to himself as he watched Randy approach a wide open space near a fountain.

"Alright Fishman, I'm here! Show yourself!" the ex-cashier called out looking around.

"At last you have arrived my most hated adversary," a lisp-filled voice called out and Artie nearly died laughing as a squat figure waddled into view from behind a Minotaur statue.

The young man was roughly around Randy's age and stood roughly five feet five inches in height, yet had to be over two hundred pounds. His short brown hair was greasy and unkempt, with his face covered in acne scars, prominent buck teeth that made him look like a beaver and half-moon glasses that gave him an even more cartoonish look. He wore an aqua-colored sweater vest that hugged his flabby upper torso tightly, prominently displaying his man boobs, white short-sleeved shirt underneath, gray cargo shorts and some ratty red and white tennis shoes. From the smell of things, his clothes likely hadn't been washed in quite some time, causing him to literally smell like a rotting fish left in the sun.

"Alright Fishy, I showed up just like you wanted now why don't we finished this once and for all?" Randy said trying to sound macho, yet struggling not to trip over his words.

Fishy giggled loudly, spittle flying out of his mouth, "Oh we're going to finish this alright and in the end, I will be the undisputed master of Rushmore City's 'Denizen Foul' competitions and nobody will stop me when you are gone!"

"Well okay, we're going to attempt to 'get medieval' on each other's asses then aren't we?" Randy asked while scratching his underarms.

"Correction Randall Spitz, I never said that _I_ was going to get medieval on your heathen ass, but I do have some people who will," Fishy replied.

On cue, six large muscle-bound men stepped into view, all of them wearing purple and white letterman jackets with logos identifying them as members of the Rushmore Chompers, the university's football team.

"Wh-What the hell is this?" Randy whimpered, feeling himself freeze in place as the six men approached him punching their fists into opened palms.

"It's pound cake time little bitch!" a tall man with slicked back brown hair called out stalking towards the much smaller Randy.

"I'll slap you so fucking hard it'll feel like you kissed a freight train," spat a blond-haired jock wearing a matching baseball cap.

"I'm gonna pound you harder than B.J. Smith pounded his second wife before she got cut up by that stranger in the night," shouted a black jock as he pounded his chest like a gorilla.

"Wh-What th-the hell do you th-th-th-think you're doing?" Randy stuttered as the jocks began to surround him.

"What do you think Spitz? I got some 'hired guns' to do my dirty work for me! You truly had no idea how rich my family is and what kind of friendship money can buy!" Fishy giggled excitedly.

_"What the hell does that fat little bastard think he's doing?" _Artie asked from his hiding place, _"Those apes are gonna fucking kill Randy if I don't do something about it."_

The hired gun leapt out from behind the statue and charged towards the group, "Alright, I think I've seen just about enough of this 6 on 1 bullshit!" he hollered.

"What the hell Spitz? You were supposed to come alone! You've violated the terms of the agreement!" Fishy shouted before pointing towards Artie, "Take him out too!"

The jocks turned their attention to Artie and with a collective war cry made their charge.

_"Gotta think fast Artie! Just think of it like you're playing Fatton 2012, except this time you can actually hit your opponents for real," _he thought to himself before he ducked low to avoid one of the oncoming players, sending the man flying over him and landing with a hard thud on the grass, but he was quickly tackled to the ground by another player and had to raise his arms to block the man's blows.

"I'm so gonna pound your ass pretty boy…in a non-sexual way that is," the jock called out as his meaty hands struck Artie's forearms, causing the hired gun to wince in pain under every blow.

Feeling a burst of energy, the hired gun used all of his leg strength to flip the big man off of him, only to be sent staggering backwards by a hard forearm blow from the baseball cap-wearing jock, who then kicked him hard in the gut and knocked the wind out of him.

"Trying to be the knight in shining armor and save your little girlfriend here are ya'?" the jock taunted before clubbing his upper back and dropping him to his knees.

Artie grimaced as a fresh wave of pain shot through his upper back and shoulders, but he still kept pushing forth and drove his fist upward into the man's groin, dropping him to the ground and giving him and opening to snatch the man's ankle and lock him into a painful joint lock, shaking violently until he was awarded with a loud crack.

"Ah fuck man! You broke my leg! We're supposed to play tomorrow against Spruce City you jackass!" the college student howled in pain.

"Well sucks to be you," Artie replied as he brought his arms up to block a punch directed at his face and then weaved around an attempted hook to deliver a hard punch to the next attacker's gut before delivering a hard uppercut that sent him staggering and finishing him with a reverse roundhouse kick that finally knocked him out cold.

"Oh shit!" Artie blurted out as the black jock picked up a trashcan and tried to toss it at him, forcing him to duck as it clattered against a wooden park bench.

Nearby Randy was scampering about on his hands and knees as a tall dark-haired man with a tanned complexion swiped down after him.

"C'mon pipsqueak! Let's make this quick. I've got a date in an hour!" the jock shouted as he tried to grab at Randy's ankles, only for the ex-cashier to crawl between his legs.

"This so isn't what I agreed to!" he whined as he man managed to grab hold of his underwear and gave him a hard wedgie as he attempted to crawl away.

"YAAAHH! I'm so staying away from message boards from now on!" Randy cried out as his fingers dug into the dirt.

"Why resist little man? You're only making this harder on yourself!" the jock laughed as he tried to turn himself around, only to step on a nearby rake and have the handle come flying up into his face, knocking him out cold.

Artie ducked as two of the jocks attempted to tackle him from opposite sides, sending the men colliding head on into one another and both knocking them out cold.

"Looks like it's just you and me!" called out the apparent leader of the pack, who dug his shoe into the grass like a bull preparing to charge, "Gonna show you what happens when you grab the bull by the horns!"

"In that case…Ole," Artie shouted back as he circled his remaining opponent, who made bull snorting noises to emphasize the bestial nature of his 'Bull' nickname.

With breakneck speed the big man charged towards Artie, who barely sidestepped the attack, but the jock was quick to catch himself and went for another charge, which the hired gun would again barely avoid and feel himself winded afterward.

"I could do this all day pretty boy!" the jock called out before flexing his muscles, "This is a finely tuned athletic machine you're dealing with right here!"

"Of course you're going to be 'finely tuned' with all the steroids your punk ass pops," Artie shot back, earning an angry growl from his opponent, who now attempted a flying tackle which he would try to duck, the man's foot catching him hard in the side as he tripped over him and hit the ground hard.

The hired gun cried out in pain as his side throbbed, but he tried to work through the pain as he saw the jock struggling to get up. Pushing himself back to his feet he snuck up behind the younger man and drove his elbow hard into the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

"Hey that's not fair!" Fishy shouted in disbelief, "You're not supposed to win! You were even supposed to bring help!" he shouted over to Randy.

"Look who's talking pal, I don't see you following the 'rules' either!" Artie shouted to the chunky nerd.

"Why you! I oughta'…" Fishy called out, only to trip over his words as the hired gun stared him down.

"You oughta' what? Suffocate us to death with that rancid body odor of yours? Flatten us with those jelly rolls?" Artie quipped, eliciting snickers from Randy.

Fishy's face turned beet red and he gnashed his teeth together as he tried to think of a comeback, but found himself at a loss for words and waddled towards a nearby Faggio, finding himself heavily winded before he could even reach it.

"This…This…This isn't over…Spitz! I'll be back…just you…wait and see…" he spoke between labored huffs before climbing onto the motor scooter and taking off.

"C'mon Artie, we can't let his fat ass get away!" Randy said as he leapt onto a red Faggio parked next to the one Fishy had taken.

"Alright I'm coming," Artie called back, knowing he would look like such a loser riding on a Faggio of all things. Climbing onto the scooter he fired the small vehicle up and proceeded after the fleeing fatass.

_"I'm so kicking Randy's ass for this later," _he thought as he sped down a footpath, trying to ignore the giggles of two attractive young ladies out for a walk.

"Faster!" Randy shouted trying to look over his head, only to nearly fall off in the process.

"I'm going as fast as this piece of shit will let me!" Artie shouted back as Fishy exited the footpath and cut across a picnic area where a birthday party was being held, barely dodging the swings of a blindfolded child attempting to hit a beaver-shaped piñata hanging from a tree. The hired gun followed and took a hard right to completely avoid the gathering.

"Will you please try being more careful? I nearly fell off!" Randy shouted from behind.

"You wanna drive? I'd be more than happy to oblige otherwise sit down and quit your bitching!" Artie shouted back as he followed Fishy back onto paved ground. "Christ, he's worse than a woman," he muttered under his breath.

Fishy began getting reckless as he became more desperate, nearly clipping a hobo who had been digging through a trashcan before he again treaded onto the grass and forced a birdwatcher to leap out of the way. Eventually he would bolt through a playground, but thankfully would not strike any children before making his way back onto solid ground.

"It's only a matter of time before we catch your stinky ass you fat fuck!" Randy shouted to his fleeing rival.

"You're not as good as you think Spitz, you're gonna fail just like you have all the other times!" Fishy called back as they entered the Jefferson Beach district, nearly running over a street performer and causing his audience to disperse.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Artie muttered as he followed the overconfident fatass onto the boardwalk, sending more pedestrians scattering.

"Once again you've lost Spitz!" Fishy called back looking over his shoulder, "At last I've had my-"

Just as Francis Fishman looked ahead he saw there was no path there and found the Faggio going airborne as he approached a stairwell, the scooter landing hard and skidding along on its side, sending the portly geek rolling into a wooden crate filled with fish.

"Only proper," Artie laughed to Randy as he brought the Faggio to a halt and approached the stairwell to see Fishy pushing himself back to his feet and waddling along.

"Your ass is mine fat boy!" Randy shouted running down the stairs after his hated rival.

"Now this I've gotta see," Artie whispered to himself following after his companion.

Fishy attempted to shout back at the scrawny man chasing after him, but he was already winded from having to run along the fishing pier, where the fishermen found themselves distracted by the flabby bespectacled man and broke into a fit of laughter, which amplified to the level of hysteria as Randy was just inches away from catching his prey, only to slip and fall on a dead fish.

Fortunately for him, there was nowhere left for Francis Fishman to run as he found himself at the end of the dock with his foot entangled in a rope.

"End of the road Fishy," Artie said, only to wave his hand in front of him as he caught a whiff of the man's rancid odor.

"You…might have…won this round…but it's not over…yet," the portly man huffed and puffed while struggling to maintain his balance.

"No, you might've actually won this round…your fat ass actually got some exercise!" Artie laughed, prompting snicker from the nearby fishermen.

"Fuck you! You're nothing but a cheater…and a bully!" Fishy shouted back still struggling to keep his balance.

"Me, a cheater? Heh, you oughta' be one to talk when it was you who tried to put six 'roid monkeys up against one scrawny pipsqueak," Artie said looking back to his companion, who was around five feet seven inches in height and had to be roughly 140 pounds soaking wet.

"Hey!" Randy shouted back, offended at the last comment.

"Well…you just wait and see…I'll show you…sometime or later!" Fishy said trying to sound tough, but just looking like a complete buffoon in the end.

"C'mon Randy let's go, we're done with Shamu," Artie motioned towards his companion, before suddenly turning around and leaping at their target, "BOO!"

Fishy yelped in terror and fell backwards over the edge, yet there was no splash.

Artie and Randy both went to see what had happened and found themselves having to hold back laughter as Fishy dangled by his ankle from the rope, in plain view of some people who were partying on a nearby Marquis and laughing raucously at the pathetic sight.

"Hey, don't just stand there! Get me down from here!" Fishy shouted to the partiers as he hung upside down, "Seriously, I get nosebleeds really bad and I have irritable bowels!"

"Okay, _now_ we'd better get out of here," Artie spoke at the revelation and began walking away from the dangling geek.

"Holy shit, thanks a lot Artie! I owe you one," Randy said rushing to catch up with the hired gun, "Seriously man, I'll have to help you in any way I can after what you've done. I'm not used to having people do good deeds for me like that; it really means a lot dude."

"Don't mention it. If I were in your case I'm sure I'd want some big tough badass standing up for me too," Artie said ogling some ladies walking around in tiny bikinis.

"Well now that I've got access to my laptop…" he spoke before realizing there were other people around and leaned closer to his companion, "…I can hack into someone's account and actually pay you this time around. It can't be much though; I don't wanna raise too many suspicions."

"Heh, I thought you were supposed to be a hotshot hacker. If you're such a 'hotshot' then why are you worried about raising so many suspicions? Don't you think you should be living in an Emerald Hill penthouse apartment about now?" Artie chuckled, "Look at the guy who started Spacebook. He was living on his best friend's couch one day and the next he was in a Maricon Valley penthouse apartment!"

"Given my luck, I'd be in a Maricon Valley penthouse apartment one day and in the gutter being pissed on the next," Randy groaned as they ascended a short flight of stairs and approached a bus stop.

"You sure you don't want a ride back to the bar?" Artie asked as a small group assembled in the bus stop kiosk.

"No, I'll be alright, really," Randy replied waiting as the Coach showed up and got onboard.

With his companion gone he spotted a truck shaped like a taco nearby belonging to Taco Hell and decided now could be a good time to get some lunch.

He got in line behind the only other patron, an overweight Mexican guy in a loud Hawaiian shirt and jean shorts.

"Yeah, I'll take two of your large Tamiel Tacos, three of your Beelzebub Burritos, four Corson Quesadillas, one order of Caim's Chimichangas and a mega-sized diet Secsi," the gluttonous man said as he struggled to get a hand into his pocket.

"Artie!" the hired gun heard a woman's voice call out to him, but turned around to find no one he recognized.

"Artie, over here!" the woman called out again and he looked over near a line of payphones to find a woman with short feathered brunette hair and large sunglasses waving to him.

"Who are you?" he demanded cautiously approaching the woman, keeping a hand on his concealed handgun.

"Artie, it's me," the woman said removing her sunglasses to reveal more of her familiar face.

"Monica?" he whispered back noticing her looking around nervously, "What's going on?" he demanded.

The woman looked around nervously before pulling him closer and whispering into his ear, "It's my husband. I think he's hired a hitman to kill me. I honestly don't know for sure, but ever since I left the house I've had this feeling like someone's been following me."

Artie now found himself looking around to see if the woman's paranoia could be justified. For all he saw, everybody else appeared to be going out their usual routines on the beach with ladies sunbathing, couples playing beach volleyball and even some young people racing around in BF Injection dune buggies.

"Well so far everything seems normal to me," the hired gun said placing a hand over his eyes to shield them from the bright sunlight, until he noticed some weird-looking guy wearing a tan sunhat and loud Hawaiian shirt who was aiming his camera directly at Monica.

"Oh shit, get down!" he said grabbing the woman by the shoulders and pulling her to the ground, a bullet striking a small billboard promoting the Swigger's liquor store.

Artie rose to his feet and charged towards the mystery man, only to find him reaching for a briefcase at his side and pointing it towards him like a gun, again forcing him to leap out of the way as a muffled bang sounded from the silenced pistol inside.

The hired gun withdrew his Glock 22 and took aim at the disguised gunman, prompting him to turn on his heel and run as several onlookers shrieked in panic.

"Outta my way," Artie shouted to the citizens in front of him as he watched the gunman yank a woman out of her Feroci and speed off. Cursing under his breath he looked to his right to find a parked Shitzu Hakuchou and leapt onto it, its station set at Radio GX and playing "Undead" by Hollywood Undead.

"You're not getting away that easily you bastard," he said aloud as he watched the hijacked Feroci slam into an oncoming Intruder and send its driver flying through the windshield. Artie gunned the street bike's engine and nearly ran over some pedestrians who had come to check on the injured motorist, narrowly avoiding an empty beer bottle being thrown at his head.

Artie took a hard left around the corner to find the reckless gunman speeding through a side street where Latino hip-hop artist Chihuahua was in the middle of shooting a music video and he slammed into a Savanna lowrider being used, sending all the models inside flying out and running over a big booty Latina. The hired gun maneuvered a little more easily around the cast and crew members as he continued his pursuit of the would-be assassin.

The errand boy got into position and was preparing to open fire, but a Rhapsody hatchback turned onto the street and forced him to cut around it, but by then the Feroci had cut off a Dragon Wagon delivery van coming from the opposite direction and forcing it to swerve sideways, providing yet another unwanted obstacle for Artie to avoid.

_"This fucker's really starting to piss me off," _he thought to himself as he cut onto a sidewalk and forced several pedestrians to leap aside before cutting off a '92 Bobcat pulling up to a stoplight just as the Feroci made another right hand turn, the persistent hired gun still nipping away at his heels.

Artie was finally able to raise his Glock and fired three shots at the fleeing Feroci, one which would strike a brake light and the other two shattering the rear window. The gunman pulled another reckless stunt as he pulled in front of an oncoming Flatbed transporting a mounted crane, only to swerve out of its path at the last second hoping it would jackknife, but his pursuer again gunned the engine and managed to get out of the way just in time.

"You're not losing me that easily pal," he grumbled raising his gun and squeezing off two more rounds, both of them missing his intended target being one of the car's wheels. The driver made a sharp left just as Artie fired another shot that missed, right in front of an oncoming police cruiser.

"Oh shit," he spat as the cruiser's lights flashed on.

_"R.C.P.D., you have violated a city ordinance prohibiting firearms from being discharged in public. Pull over immediately or we will be authorized to use deadly force on your law breaking ass!" _the cop called out over his megaphone.

"Like hell I will," Artie muttered as he continued his pursuit of the fleeing gunman and noticed he was turning onto a street where another Flatbed was waiting at a stoplight, this one transporting large pipes. His target had already cleared the vehicle, but he ended up raising his gun and fired at the restraints holding the pipes in place, hoping he could use them to slow the officer down, but it was all for naught as his pullets pinged harmlessly off the iron sides, missing the tethers by inches.

"Damn it," he spat as another patrol car joined the pursuit and his target was getting farther away. He did what he could to ignore the officers and their threats being barked at him and continued his pursuit of the Feroci.

The fleeing car made another sharp left turn into the Osbourne Dale district and slamming into a vest-wearing punk, prompting the guy's black-clad friends to open fire upon the Feroci, yet doing little to slow it down as it sped past the Margera Skate Park. Artie again caught up and fired another round at the fleeing car, but his bullet only succeeded in striking the passenger side's rearview mirror. Before he could squeeze off another round he was cut off by a patrol car trying to block his path, forcing him to a screeching halt as a shotgun-toting officer emerged.

"Surrender at once!" the cop barked, but Artie's eyes remained focused on the fleeing car and he gunned the engine speeding around the car and narrowly avoiding a round of buckshot directed at his face.

The hired gun cut across another footpath and sped over a hill into a nearby alley, only to find the shot up Feroci had been abandoned and the gunman was nowhere in sight.

"Motherfucker!" he screamed, but could hear the police sirens getting closer and knew he had to get out of there.

Fortunately there was a Pay n' Spray nearby and he was able to enter the garage without being spotted by the cops.

"I need this bike repainted and the tires replaced," Artie said handing the key to a man in a soiled blue jumper.

"No problem pal, come back in an hour," the mechanic said accepting the keys.

Artie exited the garage and could still hear the sirens in the distance, but he looked over to find a Hinterland store nearby and quickly made his way inside.

Needing a change of clothes to lose the heat, he purchased a navy blue Hinterland coat and a pair of navy and black track pants. Seeing they were next door to an Eris shoe store and feeling in the mood for spending a few extra dollars he walked in and purchased a pair of Hancock athletic shoes.

Now wearing new clothes with his old ones in a bag, the hired gun made his way outside just as a police car was speeding past and he quickly looked off to the side, sighing in relief as the cruiser disappeared without incident.

Having lost the heat Artie reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone, shuffling through his list of contacts until he came to Monica Belding's name and hit the speed dial button.

_"Oh my god, please tell me you got rid of that guy," _the young woman pleaded.

Artie exhaled heavily before speaking, "I'm afraid not. He got away."

_"What?" _she screamed, _"What the hell do you mean that bastard got away? Oh my god, he's going to find me and kill me! God Artie I seriously don't know what to do. I'm as good as dead now that he knows I'm still alive," _the woman spoke fighting back tears.

"Monica, try to calm down. Just keep your head down and call me if you find anything suspicious," Artie replied.

Labored breathing came from the other end followed by a few low whimpers, _"Okay, I will."_

The call ended and Artie shoved the phone back into his pocket, wondering if he would encounter the mysterious gunman again and furthermore if he would be able to protect Monica from him.

He would worry about that later as he looked over to see an Al Dente's a few doors down from the Pay n' Spray and remembered he was about to get himself something for lunch before Monica interrupted him. With some time to kill until his newly-acquired Hakuchou was ready he decided he would get something to eat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Although Artie Cappelli may be a badass hitman, he's not perfect and I decided to have him fail to stop the gunman for the sake of realism so he could avoid the not too kindly 'Mary Sue' (or I should say 'Marty Stu' seeing as he's a guy) label.

This was another chapter rife with parodies galore and I know I'm going to have a hard time remembering all of them and there is a good chance I might miss a few little things here and there.

The Hi-Fi Hut electronics store next door to Azonkalypse is meant to be a parody of Radio Shack and Taco Hell is obviously intended to be a parody of Taco Bell. The taco-shaped truck Artie was approaching before his 'random encounter' was intended to be a play on Oscar Meyer's 'Wiener Mobile.' Some of the names that Mexican guy listed in the foods he purchased were based upon the names of demons from religious texts.

I was going to save this parody until the next chapter, but Diet Secsi is intended to be a spoof of Diet Pepsi and that would mean Secsi is a spoof of the regular Pepsi.

The video arcade was another place chocked with parodies galore, including 'Road Burner,' which spoofs 'Super Hang On' and just in general any other motorcycle racing game where you mount a mock motorcycle as part of the controls. 'Jig Jig Uprising' was a parody of 'Dance Dance Revolution,' 'Super Barrio Bros.' is a parody of 'Super Mario Bros.' and the game Randy was playing 'Calamity Sector' was intended to be a spoof of 'Crisis Zone,' a spinoff from the 'Time Crisis' series where you used a light gun control shaped like a submachine gun. Also mentioned, but not present in the arcade, 'Denizen Foul' is a spoof of 'Resident Evil' and the Despot is a spoof of the Tyrant. The 'Smack-a-Ho' is a parody of the common 'Whack-a-Mole' carnival game.

Another video game parodied that does not appear in the arcade is 'Fatton 2012,' which is a spoof of the 'Madden' football games franchise. 'Fatton' is also a reference to Larry the Cable Guy's roast on Comedy Central from a few years back where Greg Giraldo was mocking the pink camouflage dress Lisa Lampanelli was wearing and saying that she "looked like General Fatton."

For another video game parodied that DOES appear in the arcade, 'Gimp Wars' is a spoof of 'Star Wars' and the dildo-shaped controller being swung at the screen was inspired by this arcade game I saw in an arcade in Madison, which was a samurai sword fighting game where the controller was shaped like the handle of a katana and the player would swing it at the screen. The concept of using a dildo in the place of a light saber was also inspired by that spoof of 'Star Wars' they do in "Zack and Miri Make a Porno" called 'Star Whores' in which they used dildos that looked like light sabers.

The Lame Boy which Randy plays is an obvious spoof of Game Boy and Mighty Man is intended to be a spoof of the 'Mega Man' franchise.

Spacebook is an obvious parody of Facebook and Maricon Valley is a spoof of Silicon Valley, "maricon" being a Central American slang term for an effeminate homosexual male.

The Juggernauts are going to be the professional football team from Rushmore City and they are inspired by Juggernaut from the X-Men comics. Then again, it could also reference a woman's 'jugs' to keep in sync with Rockstar's innuendo-laced humor.

The Chompers will be Rushmore University's football team and their name is another reference I thought up to the term 'Carpet muncher,' but substituting 'munch' with a variation of the same function and make their team mascot a piranha.

Chihuahua is a parody of the rapper Pitbull and I figured I would use the name of a Latin-sounding dog to spoof him this time around. I'm thinking I might possibly expand upon his character in further chapters.

Randy's rival Francis 'Fishy' Fishman was inspired by Fatty from the Rockstar game "Bully," who was also the kid you would wrestle against in gym class.

Randy's dialogue about wanting to shove the little girl's ice cream cone up her candy ass is inspired by The Rock and the line where that jock said "I'll slap you so fucking hard it'll feel like you kissed a freight train" is a line borrowed from Five Finger Death Punch's song "War is the Answer." The joke the last jock makes about B.J. Smith pounding his wife is obviously a joke directed at O.J. Simpson.

The gunman's weapons were inspired by the CIA vs. KGB episode from the Spike TV series 'Deadliest Warrior,' where for their mid-range weapon the KGB uses a special gun equipped with .22 rounds hidden inside of a camera and the CIA's mid-range weapon being a silenced Walther PPK hidden inside a briefcase.

Whew! Well that's everything (I hope) on the parody front so until then as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	18. Making Amends

Author's Note: For this chapter I will include some Spanish dialogue for which I've used Google Translate to help me understand. I will use the Spanish dialogue and then I will have its English translation next to it in parentheses to keep me from needing to post it in the ending author's note. I am not a native Spanish speaker, so please bear with me if I do get some things wrong.

Well that's it for now so until then it's on with the story!

Chapter 18: Making Amends

The next morning Artie had woken up with nothing to do and decided he would see what was happening on the worldwide web, deciding to finally make use of the e-mail account Randy set up for him.

He had gone to the Cyber-Ing internet café over in Horgate and was seated at one of the computers, where he enjoyed a Smoke-a-Lotta Latte as he browsed online. Mostly his e-mails consisted of requests from Randy, Zeke and Iceman to join their battalion on 'Sworn for Battle.' In addition to that he had also gone through daily weather reports, results of sporting events, and even browsed his daily horoscope, telling him about the importance of forgiving those who had recently wronged him and how it could bring him great rewards in the end.

_"Like that ever happens," _he thought to himself as he browsed the official homepage of the Celebrities United for Nicer Treatment or C.U.N.T. for short, where socialite Cloe Parker was criticizing the Liberty City paparazzi for snapping embarrassing pictures of her best friend as she received oral sex simultaneously from two other women at the same time, _"Like we need to know about any of this shit."_

The café was surprisingly packed for this time of day and he had been lucky enough to find the last remaining station, causing him to wonder how many people in this city really had a life.

_"Oh well, I'd rather be surrounded by geeks than gangbangers any day of the week. At least you can threaten these losers with an actual gun and they'll back down," _he mused to himself as he browsed the Weazel News website, where they were discussing the results of the most recent mayoral debate between Mayor Ron Walker and his challenger Robert Kretchell.

He wasn't a political person by nature and quite frankly hated politics altogether, but still he found himself getting a good chuckle out of what he read as Mayor Walker seemed to agree with the majority of his right-wing supporters that all the illegal aliens in this country would soon bring back the Bubonic Plague.

_"Those fuckers wouldn't hesitate to disown their own grandmothers for being too liberal," _Artie thought to himself, _"Awful funny how when anybody else would be caught doing drugs or cheating on their spouses they'd automatically be a 'failure as a human being,' but then one of their own does it and they suddenly 'need our prayers' and all that other double standard bullshit. Give me a fucking break!"_

Meanwhile, a couple rows ahead of Artie, a horny pervert who also happened to be one of his co-workers from Freeman Cabs named Otis Moleman was looking for his daily fix and about to log onto the kiddie porn site known as 'Little Lacy Surprise Pageant.'

"Oh yes, time to view me some unspoiled lily white flesh," he giggled, barely able to control himself as he typed the website onto the address bar, squealing in delight as he pushed the 'Enter' key. "Time to have some fun now! Daddy's here!"

_"Alright, I think I've spent enough time around here," _Artie thought standing up and stretching his arms, _"Maybe I'll see what Iceman's up to today."_

Before he could even step away from his station the café's front window was shattered by a ball-like object, causing the cashier to stare curiously at it.

"What the-" he uttered just as a hiss sounded, followed by jets of tear gas shooting out.

The front door was kicked in and like a bolt of lightning, an entire platoon of heavily-armed N.O.O.S.E. operatives clad in full riot gear piled into the small internet café.

"Everybody down on the fucking ground now! You're all under arrest!" the lead operative called out before grabbing a petite woman and tossing her to the ground.

"But sir, I didn't do anything!" a college student protested before being zapped to the ground by a stun gun.

"We'll be giving the orders around here, now get your worthless asses to the ground now!' the operative again barked, this time spraying a young woman in the face with a can of mace, then striking her with his nightstick as she screamed in pain.

"Get down on the ground now!" the officers shouted repeatedly as they approached every single patron and forced them down to their knees, pulling out pairs of riot cuffs to place everybody under arrest. Whenever the patrons protested their innocence they were either zapped with stun guns, pepper sprayed, or just simply knocked to the floor by the officers' riot shields.

"Get your fucking ass to the ground now chump stain!" a N.O.O.S.E. operative ordered grabbing Artie and shoving him backwards against his computer station before throwing him to the ground.

"Hey, police brutality pig!" the Italian-American grunted before taking a steel-toed boot to the side.

"I am the law here and I will be the one doing the talking!" the officer barked like a drill sergeant.

Artie could only groan in frustration as the plastic handcuffs were tied around his wrists and he was lifted to his feet by two officers, looking down to see the cashier apprehended as well.

"This will be teaching you to be checking out little girls you sick freak!" an officer shouted into Otis Moleman's ear as the overweight man was thrown against the café's wall before being led outside, "Everybody suffers because of you!"

Artie looked towards the front door where a dark-haired man in a black suit stood talking to one of the armored cops, "Looks like 'Operation Lacy' was a success. Book 'em boys! Get these sick freaks out of my sight before I snap and show them what I did to those kangaroos back in Sydney."

"Yes sir," an officer called out before returning his attention to Artie, "C'mon, move your ass sicko," he said kicking the hired gun hard in the backside and forcing him through the café's front door, where a group of concerned onlookers gathered, held back by both N.O.O.S.E. and F.I.B. agents. There was already news vans from RCNN-13 and Weazel News present with their anchors reporting live and nearby was another van, this one belonging to the popular reality television series "Rushmore's Most Wanted," where the host Chris Walsh stood before a camera.

"You see they can be anywhere, pedophiles come in all different shapes and sizes, even that kindly old lady from next door who serves you milk and cookies could be a pedophile herself. You always have to remain vigilant when putting up with these types of people and if there are ever any innocent bystanders amongst the group; well you can never trust them either. Sick people like this have ways of being able to disguise themselves well in public, but mark my words, once they see your sweet little boy standing there with his beanie cap and adorable Pogo the Monkey t-shirt on, they'll be all over them like flies to honey, wanting to explore every single inch of their unspoiled virginal flesh in their own little 'all you can eat' buffet!"

In the background a chubby woman in a purple top was shown being tossed across the hood of a police cruiser and being manhandled, while a bum who had been digging through a trashcan was suddenly snatched away and tossed to the ground, where he was beaten savagely with nightsticks.

Not much farther away there was an overweight balding man in a bowler's shirt who looked over and saw Chris Walsh, "Oh my god, it's Chris Walsh!" the man screamed before pulling out a gun and placing it to his temple, squeezing the trigger and splattering his brains all over a nearby child.

"Oh my god, Chris Walsh!" a fat frizzy-haired man shouted before pulling out a TEC-9 and placing it beneath his chin, obliterating his entire face.

"Chris Walsh!" called out a man in a white and red windbreaker before leaping from the apartment complex he stood atop, landing on a parked Cognoscenti, causing its alarm to go off.

Artie found himself forced into a line where the café patrons were being loaded one by one into a waiting Stockade. The people ahead of him protested nonstop as they were shoved inside, particularly a middle-aged man in a flannel shirt and black jeans.

"You can't do this to me! I have my rights! I will sue your ass for every cent you're worth if you keep this shit up!" the man shouted, until a N.O.O.S.E. agent fired a volley of hot lead point blank into his face.

"Dude, now that is not cool!" another officer shouted as he stepped in to stop his colleague.

"Don't give me that liberal bullshit you weak stomached pussy!" the officer shot back freeing himself of his co-worker's grip, "Christ, you're sounding no better than them!"

"Uh…we can edit that out, can't we?" Chris Walsh asked his cameraman, his cheeks turning beet red.

"No problem sir," the cameraman replied.

Without further incident the remaining patrons were led into the back of the Stockade, too frightened after what had just transpired.

_"This is fucking bullshit," _Artie thought to himself as he was seated next to Otis.

"Oh, hey Artie! Howdy do! Now this is not the ideal way to be starting off my day. My mom's gonna be so worried when I don't come home tonight," the overweight cabbie spoke looking around nervously.

_"All thanks to your fat perverted ass," _Artie thought as the doors were slammed shut.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_**10 Hours Later**_

"This is fucking bullshit," Artie Cappelli muttered to himself for the millionth time as he sat in the large communal cell along with everybody else had been present at the café.

It was now 8 o'clock at night and he had literally spent his entire day in a jail cell without being given his obligatory phone call, which would have given him the chance to be out of there hours ago and away from all these people.

For the most part he had refused to converse with the other detainees, especially that short, overweight freckle-faced girl who looked to be barely out of high school that seemed to have developed a crush on him. He answered in one or two word replies when spoken to, that or raising his fists to let them know he wasn't in the mood for chitchat.

_"When the fuck are they going to let the rest of us out of this shithole? They've already got who they want," _he thought to himself looking over to Otis, who was in the middle of picking his nose and scratching his crotch at the same time. God how he wanted to get out of there so badly to the point he was ready to start beating people to death.

The loud clang of metal caught his attention as did the other patrons as a police officer stepped into view, flanked by two N.O.O.S.E. agents clad in their full riot gear.

"Arthur Cappelli?" the officer called out.

The young man sprung to his feet at the mention of his name ready for what was to come, "Yeah, that's me."

The officer pulled out his keys and opened the cell door, "You're free to go."

Everybody looked in disbelief towards Artie, who couldn't believe his sudden good fortune and quickly made his way out of the cell while the door was slammed shut behind him.

"Are you serious?" he asked the officer, unable to believe he was asking questions after being given a sudden release.

"By orders of the precinct captain himself you are free to go," the officer replied sounding agitated, "I honestly have no idea why, but he just said that you were to be released immediately."

"Oh…well I thank you very much officer and I assure you that I had nothing to do with whatever happened back at that internet café. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Artie spoke.

"Heh yeah, that's what all you lawbreakers say! Now just get the fuck outta here before I change my mind behind the captain's back," the officer ordered with a dismissive wave.

"Asshole," Artie muttered under his breath while making his way back into the lobby, his last time here being when he was called in to bail out his cousin Donnie.

"Hey yo' Cuz!" a familiar voice called out, one which made him flinch.

_"Speak of the Devil," _he thought to himself as he turned to face his cousin Donnie, who stood near the front desk clad in a black leather jacket, button up shirt underneath, a pair of dark blue jeans and two-toned athletic shoes.

"What are you doing here?" Artie asked, unable to hide the irritation in his tone. _"Last time I saw your sorry ass you almost got me killed."_

"I bailed your guinea ass out, that's what," Donnie proclaimed snatching his cousin's hand and giving it a firm pump.

Artie could not believe his ears, "You of all people just bailed my ass out?"

Donnie laughed heartily, "Jesus you need to clean that shit outta your ears Cuz! You heard me right, Donnie Cappelli doesn't bullshit nobody!" He then lowered his tone slightly, "You bailed my ass out once and now it's my time to return the favor."

"You mean to tell me you're actually doing something for somebody other than yourself for once in your life?" Artie asked as they made their way towards the double doors, "How the hell did you know I got arrested?"

"It was on the news jackass," Donnie chuckled as they stepped through the exit, "Stuff flies around these parts faster than a monkey flinging its own shit. Christ, you get busted for stealing a fucking pack of sugar people will know about it right away!"

"Heh, guess that's a good thing this time," Artie said as they made their way down the steps towards a waiting Willard with its driver's side window smashed.

"Where's your Banshee man? I thought these kinds of cars were beneath your exquisite taste," Artie observed as his cousin climbed inside and then reached over to unlock the passenger door for him.

"Let's just say I decided to 'borrow' it from some not-so-comely young lass from the Supa Save and take it for a little joyride," Donnie chuckled as he switched over to the Techno Playground FM station, currently playing "Southern Sun" by Paul Oakenfold.

"Let me get this straight, you of all people, going for a joyride in this hunk of junk?" Artie asked as the rusted handle broke off when he attempted to roll the window down, "I never thought I'd see the day the almighty Donatello Cappelli would be caught dead in such a ride."

Donnie sighed in irritation, "If you must know, I have a little 'job' to perform and I'm in no hurry to let my pride and joy be shot to shit or blown up."

Artie looked towards his cousin like he was about ready to jump out of the car, "Oh my fucking god Donnie! Don't tell me you just bailed my ass out so I could accompany you on another suicide mission! Remember what happened the last time? I almost got my ass killed because of you!"

Donnie sped the car up, "You're right Cuz, I do need your help with another job and trust me, it won't be a 'suicide mission' like the last time."

"Can't you just go to somebody else for help goddamn it?" Artie grunted, driving his elbow into the window out of frustration and shattering it into a million pieces.

"Hey, hey take it easy Cuz! If I didn't trust your sorry ass I wouldn't be bringing you along!" Donnie shot back.

Artie exhaled deeply again, "Okay, before I try to jump out and save my own ass from your stupidity please tell me who you pissed off this time."

"Thank you Artie, I knew you'd see things my way for once," Donnie spoke making a left turn, "If you must know I haven't pissed anybody off…yet. A moving truck has been hijacked."

"And what the fuck's so special about that?" Artie asked, "What the fuck could be so special about it that it involves us needing to put our bacon on the line yet again? Christ, there's gotta be a thousand fucking moving trucks in this city!"

Donnie took a deep breath before replying, "Let's just say the contents consist of some priceless antiques that happen to be very important to a dear friend of mine, so priceless he doesn't trust the pigs around here, fearing they will try taking it for themselves if given the opportunity," he explained coming to a stop at a red light, the most legal thing he had done all day long.

"Since when did you become somebody's bitch?" Artie chuckled, only to receive a sharp glare for his wisecrack.

"I'm _nobody's_ bitch!" the elder Cappelli snapped, "I'm doing this out of the goodness of my own heart thank you very much!"

"Yeah right, just like when you're banging some different slut for every different day of the week! Oh yeah Donnie, you're just a regular saint among men," Artie countered sarcastically, prompting Donnie to suddenly slam on the gas pedal.

"Fuck you man! Just be lucky you're my flesh and blood or else I would've gladly kicked you out into oncoming traffic for that," Donnie hissed, maintaining a white knuckle grip on his steering wheel.

"Well if you cared so much for your own flesh and blood then you wouldn't have almost gotten me killed back at that strip club," Artie replied.

"Will you let that go already!" Donnie hollered, "Jesus Fucking Christ let it go for once!"

"Fine, I'll drop your ass off in the middle of the woods, handcuffed and with a bunch of steaks tied around your neck, leave you to the mercy of the wolves and grizzlies. Let's see you try letting that go," Artie again countered.

"Gah! Just fucking give it up!" Donnie snapped.

"So, have any idea where you're dragging my sorry ass to this time around?" Artie asked as they pulled off the freeway.

"Steel Junction," the elder cousin replied, "Yes, I can't believe I'm heading into that shithole either."

"I take it you must be getting paid pretty damn good for you to go there of all places," Artie said staring at the big green sign telling them how far away Steel Junction was.

"Ten thousand," Donnie replied, "Don't worry; I'll be giving you a cut as long as you don't run away with your tail between your legs like a little bitch."

"You'd better," Artie hissed as some beaten down vehicles came into view.

"You have to anyway; you owe me for bailing your ass out," Donnie smirked, "Consider this our way of 'making amends' for that last debacle."

"Whatever you say," Artie replied with a roll of his eyes, "but tell me first, how did you manage to bail my ass out in the first place? They said I was let go by orders of the captain himself."

"Look in the glove box," Donnie ordered.

Opening the glove box, Artie found a manila envelope inside and opened it to find several black and white photos within.

They were all pictures of a middle-aged man engaged in various illegal activities, including several of him cavorting with scantily-clad women, either in the backseat of his car, in back alleys, seedy hotels, even one of him and a woman on a pool table. There were also images of him snorting a line of cocaine with two more powdery white lines waiting, observing an illegal underground cockfight, accepting bribes from drug dealers, including members of the Redcoats and Yardies, driving while intoxicated and even urinating on a tree in Nixon Park.

"Nothing a little good old fashioned blackmail can't help," Donnie said with a hearty laugh, "The gentleman in those photos is Dexter Sperling, captain of the precinct house here on Lincoln Island. Let's just say he didn't want the trouble of keeping you around after I threatened to expose his 'extracurricular activities.'"

"Donnie you manipulative son of a bitch you," Artie laughed as he put the photos away, "Just exactly where did you get these photos?"

"Eh, I have my 'sources,' some friends in low places if you wish to say," Donnie casually replied.

"Well you must know the right people then," Artie acknowledged.

"When you're as suave as I am, anything is possible," Donnie winked as they finally reached Steel Junction.

"Whatever, I'm sure if I was a chick I'd be so wet between the thighs just being within your presence alone," Artie sarcastically quipped.

The Willard moved carefully through the nighttime streets as the hobos and prostitutes were out in full force, including them passing a rocking police cruiser.

"Talk about to 'serve and protect'" Donnie chuckled as they passed the police car and drove a couple blocks further into the shithole that was Steel Junction, its old tenement buildings and long abandoned stores making Camden Heights look like an urban utopia. Hell, the entire place looked like the aftermath of some futuristic warzone!

Nearly all of the buildings were either charred husks of their former glory or a few blackened support pillars sticking out of mountains of rubble. For the few left untouched by the great blaze that may have occurred here, they were boarded up from top to bottom.

Donnie eventually ran through a long dead stoplight, where a street fight could be seen through the opened gates of an abandoned distribution warehouse, and took a right onto a street lined by broken down old cars and brought the car to a stop behind the rusted hull of an '84 Dinka Perennial.

"Time to get to work," the elder Cappelli cousin spoke popping the trunk.

Making his way around the car, Artie found his cousin pulling out a DSR-1 bolt-action sniper rifle and handing it to him.

"Take this too," Donnie said handing him a silencer, "As much as I love a big explosion, we don't need any trouble from the fuzz right now," he spoke before slipping on a Kevlar vest and then handing one to Artie.

"Any idea who you're going up against?" Artie asked before accepting a silenced Beretta M9 from his cousin.

"Some Cubans," the elder Cappelli replied, "They basically hate everybody, so they're pretty much looking to start shit wherever they can. Stealing vehicles is nothing new for them, especially when they can make a big buck off what's inside," he said pulling out a silenced Beretta M9 and an MP5 with a silencer attached.

Once his weapons were locked and loaded Donnie leaned over to his cousin, "Alright, we need to get this truck back in one piece. I need you to find a high vantage point where you'll be able to cover my ass. Knowing these guys they'll probably have snipers on the roof, so I'll need you to take them out before I can go any further. If those sons of bitches see me, I'm fucked…and not in a good way."

"For once you think with your actual head and not your dick," Artie chuckled, only to be silenced by a sharp glare from Donnie.

"Quit being a fucking comedian and come on," the elder Capelli hissed making his way into the nearby alley.

The cousins crept through the darkened passage, the only other sounds being the dripping of water from faulty overhead pipes and the screeching of the nearby rats. They continued until they were silenced by someone speaking in Spanish.

"Oye, ¿has visto ese juego los estadistas de anoche?" (Hey, did you see that Statesmen game last night?)

"Eh, no, a diferencia de en el culo sin vida, en realidad estaba recibiendo algun gatito ayer por la noche!" (Heh no, unlike your lifeless ass I was actually getting some pussy last night!) another voice called out.

Donnie crept to the corner and looked around to see three Cuban thugs standing around, one a short man wearing an orange flannel shirt buttoned at the top to show a white wifebeater underneath and beige khaki pants who was holding a Remington 11-87 semi-automatic shogun, the second wearing a wife beater and an orange headband with a Micro Uzi and the third thug also wearing an orange headband, but with a white t-shirt and black denim shorts, and carried an AMP Automag Model 180 handgun.

"Yo lo vi, esos dumbasses no podia jugar a su manera con una bolsa de nueces, si su vida dependiera de ello!" (I saw it; those dumbasses couldn't play their way out of a nut sack if their lives depended on it!) the Automag-carrying thug replied.

"Hey! Tenga cuidado de no volver! El jefe no quiere ver nada danado!" (Hey! Be careful back there! The boss doesn't wanna see anything damaged!) the shotgun-toting thug shouted to someone behind him.

"Alright, we're definitely at the right place," Donnie spoke over his shoulder to Artie before raising the silenced Beretta and firing a round that caught the shotgun thug in the back of the head. Before the guy's colleagues could comprehend what was going on, he finished them both with two silenced shots for each man.

With the three guards taken care of, Donnie pulled out a balaclava and slid it over his face. He looked over to the six story building behind them, "Okay, that building should provide you a good enough vantage point. I expect you to be covering my ass and nothing less. You bail on me; I will hunt you down and kill you myself. Are we understood dear Cousin?"

"Of course I'm gonna be watching your monkey ass. What's family for?" Artie nodded before approaching a nearby door and trying the knob, only for the rickety door to fall off its hinges.

"I'll move in when I see the first guy on the ground fall," Donnie called back before taking a position behind the dumpster near the fallen thugs.

_"Christ, you should've given me a fucking flashlight Donnie," _Artie told himself as he entered a dimly-lit corridor littered with broken crack pipes, spent shell casings, rotten food, mangled furniture and a few roach-infested mattresses. He eventually found the stairwell entrance at the end and ascended the six flights of stairs until he found a weathered sign reading _'Roof Access' _and went to open the door, only to find it locked. Taking a few steps back, he launched himself forward and kicked the door open.

The night air was filthy as he stepped onto the bloodstained cement, the surface also riddled with pock marks from bullets colliding against it. An overturned ping pong table lay near the edge and Artie knelt down as he approached as a safety precaution, despite being on top of the tallest building in the vicinity.

Peering through the rifle's scope he looked down to see snipers positioned on three of the rooftops, two men per building.

"Time to say goodnight boys," the hired gun whispered as he took aim at a thug who crassly relieved himself off the side of the building. At least some of these guys appeared pretty lax about their assigned duties and would make easy pickings.

Squeezing the trigger Artie caught the urinating thug square in the chest and sent the man tumbling over the ledge and out of sight.

"One down," he whispered as the other Cuban stepped into view and he inhaled sharply, pulling the trigger and dropping the man with a silenced round to the sternum.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel," he said quietly as he adjusted his aim towards the second building and set his sights upon a thug standing in front of a water tower, waiting for his friend to get farther away from him before firing a round straight into the man's throat. The other thug had seen his friend fall and went over to investigate, only to be crumple next to his colleague after taking a muffled round to the face.

For the last building he would have to shift positions and took cover behind an air conditioning unit, where the two thugs on the last building conversed amongst themselves.

"Come on you fuckers, get away from each other," Artie grumbled wanting to take them both down when the second guy wouldn't see his friend fall right away.

After a bit of raucous laughter, the chubby thug carrying an AR-15 finally walked away from his buddy, leaving the other man open for a bullet to the skull when his colleague was out of earshot.

"Alright, one more to go and then I can go for the freaks on the ground, then Donnie can move in," Artie said aloud as he set his sights on the last man, who wouldn't be hard to miss given his considerable bulk. Squeezing the trigger once, he fired a round that sailed through the back of the man's shaved head.

_"Got those jokers accounted for," _Artie thought as he used the scope to scan the rooftops for any late arrivals. When there were none he allowed himself to load a fresh clip and focused his attention on the yard below.

There were eight thugs total in sight and when he saw the opened garage door of the nearby warehouse he knew there had to be more inside.

The truck was a dark brown Yankee, which he recognized as those used by the Brown Tail Moving Co., and in front of it there were three men standing around, two Cubans and one a gray-haired Caucasian man in a brown leather jacket.

"Wonder who the fuck that guy is," Artie said to himself as he took aim at the thug farthest away from the crew. With another deep inhale he squeezed the trigger and dropped the man with a shot to his upper back that would travel through his heart.

Donnie was able to see the first body fall and true to his word, crept for cover behind an abandoned Bobcat that had been stripped of its tires. He snuck along the edge and listened for footsteps as a short man in an orange t-shirt and black basketball shorts walked past him with an Armalite AR-18 in hand, raising his silenced Beretta and firing three shots into the back of the man's head.

He didn't bother to hide the body, hoping all of these men would soon be dead anyway. The elder Cappelli bolted for cover behind a stack of old wooden crates and was about to fire upon a thug approaching the first ground-level victim, only for the man to fall with a shot to the base of his neck.

Donnie knelt for cover and flashed a thumbs up to his cousin, _"Fuck yeah Artie, that's how you do it."_

A gutted Oceanic wasn't too far away and Donnie rushed for cover behind it, sliding along the ground loud enough to attract the attention of a nearby guard.

"The fuck was that?" the Cuban thug called out in English and crept towards the rusted shell with his Ithaca 37 at the ready.

"¿Seguro que no es alta ya Felipe? Eso era una cosa bastante potente Mando tenia alli," (You sure you're not high already Felipe? That was some pretty potent stuff Mando had back there) another guard laughed.

"Vete a la mierda el hombre!" (Fuck you man!) Felipe called back.

"Lo haria, pero esto no es San Fierro!" (I would, but this isn't San Fierro!) the other Cuban laughed as he walked off in a different direction.

Artie took aim on the guard closest to Donnie as he hid behind the rusted remnants of the Oceanic and fired a round which had gone a little further south than intended, striking the man in his balls.

Unfortunately, the guard's buddy was close enough to hear his pained gurgles followed by his body hitting the pavement and he turned around in wide-eyed terror.

"Mierda, nos estamos tomando el fuego!" (Shit, we're taking fire!) the thug called out waving his AK-47 around for the source.

"Guess it's time to stop with all the stealthy crap," Donnie whispered as he withdrew his silenced MP5 and fired a muffled barrage into the guard's back, causing him to squeeze his trigger before he fell to the concrete.

"Ahi esta!" (There he is) a guard called out opening fire, forcing the elder Cappelli to take cover behind an unmanned forklift.

Unknown to his cousin, Donnie had brought some hand grenades along and tossed one towards the shooter, the following explosion sending the man's shredded body airborne and landing with a wet splat not far from him.

"You're going down motherfucker!" another thug called out as seven additional thugs rushed into view and all opened fire upon the elder cousin.

"Keep talking you wetback bitches! I ain't going nowhere!" Donnie shouted back before popping out and firing towards his attackers, managing to graze a long-haired man in a soiled wife beater before he managed to slide behind a concrete barrier for cover.

In addition to the two remaining guards, there were now nine thugs trying to take down Donnie, and possibly more who were still inside the warehouse. For now Artie had to focus on what he could see and fired a round that struck one man in his abdomen, followed by another to his hip as he tried staggering away. With that man taken care of, he squeezed off a round which tore apart a man's forearm before he was forced to reload.

"That's right, take it like a bitch!" Donnie laughed as he watched a man clutching at his bleeding forearm, finishing him with a barrage to the chest.

"Nobody spills an amigo's blood and gets away with it!" shouted a thug wearing a zip up orange hoodie that was wide open, exposing his heavily-tattooed upper body underneath. The man was armed with a CZ-75 Automatic and sprayed the barrier Donnie hid behind wildly, forcing the elder Cappelli to blind fire, but firing a round which nicked the man's arm and forced him to drop his weapon, leaving him to fall compliments of a silenced round to the chest.

"You ain't leavin' here on your feet holmes!" another Cuban thug shouted pulling out a pipe bomb and chucking it in Donnie's direction.

"Oh shit!" the elder Cappelli cried out bolting away in crouch run as the bullets sailed above his head.

Artie saw the improvised explosive detonate and knew things were getting desperate for his cousin, meaning he would have to work faster and make the next few shots count.

He took notice of the thug who had thrown the pipe bomb and squeezed off a round that tore through the man's thigh, sending him falling to the pavement writhing in pain. One of his friends attempted to rush to his aid, but he would soon fall as another round from Artie's rifle perforated his forehead.

"Este hombre no viene solo!" (This guy didn't come alone!) one of the thugs shouted in his native tongue, raising a Desert Eagle and firing wildly through the smoke as he tried to kill their assailant, only to fall as one of the unseen sniper's rounds struck him through the heart and left him to bleed out.

"Suck on that bitch!" Donnie shouted tossing another hand grenade at his enemies, prompting them to scatter. The blast would catch a fleeing thug who had tripped over his wounded ally, killing both of them as they failed to escape the radius.

"¿No puedes hacer nada bien idiotas?" (Can't you idiots do anything right?) one of the thugs in the warehouse shouted to his subordinates, scooping up a Colt M4 and rushing to join the fracas.

There were two thugs left in addition to the one emerging from the warehouse, yet Donnie continued to hold his own, slapping a fresh clip into his silenced MP5 and managing to wound a shirtless man wielding a Remington Spartan 100 sawed-off shotgun before firing a cluster of rounds which tore apart his buddy's face.

"You bitches have lost! You might as well just turn over the truck and send us on our way!" Donnie shouted to the remaining thugs.

"Go to hell gringo bitch!" the M4-wielding thug shot back before unleashing a salvo of his own.

"Suit yourself!" Donnie called back chucking another hand grenade towards his attackers, again forcing them to scatter and sending one of them running into another round from Artie's sniper rifle.

"Damn you gringo! I'm gonna kill you and your faggot butt buddy!" the Cuban thug shouted raising his rifle and firing wildly towards the rooftops, coming dangerously close to striking Artie and forcing him to duck behind the ledge for cover.

The thug's distraction opened him up to another barrage from Donnie, the rifle eventually being shot out of his hands before the elder Cappelli was forced to take cover when the other remaining guard opened fire.

"It ain't over you sneaky bitch," the other guard shouted, firing wildly with an AK-74. "It's just a matter of time before…" and without warning the man suddenly leapt in front of Donnie, "HA!"

Acting on instinct Donnie quickly kicked his foot out and swept the man from his feet, sending him falling to the ground next to him. Quickly mounting the man, the elder Cappelli cousin began pounding away at his face and then grabbed him by the shoulders, ramming his head repeatedly into the surface. Having dealt enough damage, he was finally able to reach for his silenced Beretta and shoved it into the man's opened mouth, pulling the trigger.

"Suck on that," Donnie spat kicking the man's lifeless body away.

With the last thug dealt with, Donnie looked towards the warehouse to see the M4-wielding thug staggering over clutching his mangled right hand. He had the man right where he wanted him and was confident the end was near.

"Fuck yeah Artie! I knew you could do it! We showed these bitches how Cappelli men roll!" he shouted triumphantly to his cousin before chasing after the last thug.

_"Jesus Fucking Christ, Donnie! Way to announce my name to these bastards if there's any more of them hiding in the shadows! You should say it again; I don't think they heard you over on the other islands!" _Artie thought to himself scooping up the DSR-1 and making his way down the stairs to join his cousin.

Donnie made his way into the warehouse with his gun raised and encountered two more thugs, immediately cutting one down in a hail of gunfire before he was forced to take cover behind a red tool case.

"Matar a eso hijo de puta!" (Kill that fucker!) the lead thug cried to his remaining subordinate.

Donnie could see the man was armed with a Mini Uzi, but was eying up a Soviet-made PKM machinegun resting on a nearby table and needed to get him taken care of before he could grab it.

"C'mon you bitches! I could be sitting here all night. I'm not going anywhere!" Donnie shouted back as he peeked out to see the thug inching towards the machinegun. "I could bang one of your old ladies in the time it takes you to squeeze the trigger!"

The remaining thug responded with a flurry of automatic rounds that dented the tool chest, the elder Cappelli holding out until the man's machine pistol clicked empty, leaving him a sitting duck for Donnie to leap out and fire a burst into his chest.

"C'mon out bub, it's just you and me now!" Donnie shouted noticing the trail of bloody footprints leading to an opened office door, "It's the end of the road and there's nowhere left to run," he called out hugging the wall alongside the door.

"Fuck you gringo bitch! Cubanos Locos are gonna track you down and smoke your bitch ass like a Cuban cigar!" the remaining thug called out, firing a Colt .45 with his good hand, "It's just a matter of time bitch boy!"

Taking a deep breath, Artie leapt into view and fired a barrage of rounds into the man's gut, sending him falling backwards over a swivel chair and landing hard in a corner.

"Who's the bitch now?" Donnie spat.

"You kill me and you're only gonna be bringing more trouble on yourself!" the thug grunted in between spurts of blood, only to be silenced later by another burst to the chest.

"Huh, what's that you said? I can't hear you when you've got shit in your mouth!" Donnie shouted back, mockingly cupping his hand to his ear.

"Well what do we have here?" the elder cousin asked looking over to the nearby desk and finding a silver briefcase resting. Walking over and popping the latches he looked in to find rows of freshly-minted dollar bills, which he assumed had to number somewhere around twenty thousand dollars. "I'll be taking that," he whispered to himself, only to jump a second later and whirl around with his gun raised.

"Donnie relax, it's just me!" Artie said raising his hands in the air.

"Right, c'mon we gotta get outta here," Donnie said pushing past his cousin and making his way back into the loading dock area and taking the time to grab the abandoned PKM, also spotting the waiting Yankee with its shutter opened and he looked inside to find a whole bunch of antique furniture, including several armchairs and loveseats, oak chests, desks and armoires, a grandfather clock, a 19th century globe, an early jukebox and even a phonograph. "Alright, that looks to be everything," he said pulling down the shutter and then running over to climb into the passenger side.

"You drive Artie, I'll deal with any other bitches that show up looking to cause trouble," Donnie said strapping on his seatbelt and readying his silenced MP5.

"Right," Artie replied climbing into the Yankee's cab and switching on the 94.3 CSKD station, currently playing "Bleeding Me Black" by Hell Within.

"Jeez, what is it with you and this death metal crap? You should be playing music that'll make a chick wanna just rip your pants off and suck your cock like there's no tomorrow," Donnie grunted in disgust.

"Fuck you asshole, this stuff is cool! I'd rather listen to this than those faggot Blue Brothers," Artie retorted.

"Ooh, you got me there," Donnie said mock wincing, "Those wimps think they can F-star-star-K as many underage preteen girls as they want, but just wait until they turn eighteen and they're languishing away in the nearest rehab clinic," the elder Cappelli laughed, making fun of their known refusal to actually swear.

"Okay, where are we dropping this off for that 'friend' of yours?" Artie asked as they exited the yard, driving carefully so he wouldn't risk damaging the merchandise in the cargo area.

"We'll be taking it to a storage locker in Jansport, after that we have to meet the guy so he can give us our cut – Whoa, fuck me in the ass! They've got back up!" Donnie shouted pointing ahead of them to find three orange and white Tornados and two Moonbeams racing towards them. He suddenly noticed one of the lowriders came to a halt near the Willard they arrived in.

"Artie, slow down now," Donnie ordered pulling out his cell phone.

"What the fuck, Donnie? You said we needed to haul ass outta here. This is no time to be calling one of your bitches right now," Artie shouted back, only to be hushed as his cousin held up the phone and listened to the ringing on the other end.

A loud explosion occurred before them and the Tornado was swallowed up whole, both flaming hunks of metal being launched high into the air, the lowrider falling on top of another Cuban gang car, the latter's driver barely escaping in time.

"Looks like we've got no other choice," Donnie said returning fire with his silenced MP5, "Artie, I grabbed that PKM from the warehouse. It's in the back, go and get it! I'll deal with these clowns!"

Nodding in reply, Artie threw the driver's side door open and sprinted towards the back of the truck as the bullets soared around him, quickly pulling the shutter up far enough for him to reach in and grab the machinegun. Making sure the cartridge was secured the hired gun stepped into view and let loose upon his attackers.

His high velocity rounds tore through the remaining Tornado, ripping through the opened passenger door and taking down the thug who had been using it as a shield before the traveled across and ripped apart the windshield, interior and hood before they found their way through the driver hiding behind his opened door.

"Touch me I'm happy!" Artie roared as he tore through his attackers, letting out a roar that would have made Jack Howitzer blush.

The PKM's rounds send two more thugs through a blender of flesh-tearing rounds and blew off another's leg beneath the kneecap, assuring he would soon bleed out within seconds. He eventually focused his attention on one of the Moonbeam vans, firing away until smoke billowed out from beneath its bonnet and was soon followed by flames, forcing those near it to scamper for cover, Donnie catching one of them with multiple rounds to the back.

There were five thugs left and they fired away madly at the cousins, prompting Donnie to pull out another hand grenade.

"Compliments of the Don!" he shouted before pulling the pin and lobbing the grenade towards them like a baseball, the explosive landing beneath the remaining Moonbeam and blowing it sky high, taking two more Cuban thugs down with it.

Artie held the PKM at waist level and depressed the trigger, catching a thug in orange cargo pants as he attempted to dive for cover, ripping the man's torso apart and dismembering him.

"That's gonna leave a mark," the hitman replied as the last two thugs fell by Donnie's hand.

"C'mon Cuz, that's the last of them let's get the hell outta here!" Donnie shouted climbing back into the Yankee.

Artie would soon follow and slammed on the gas pedal, wanting to get out of the rundown Steel Junction district as fast as possible, and in the process running over a Cuban thug who wasn't quite dead yet.

"Well I guess you were right for once, this wasn't as much of a suicide mission as I thought it would be," Artie replied turning up the radio, which was now playing "Spellbound" by Lacuna Coil.

"See, Donnie Cappelli don't bullshit no one!" his cousin said removing his balaclava and giving him a playful punch to the shoulder. "I'll be making sure to get you a cut on this one, that's another way I _won't_ be bullshitting you."

"You'd better not be," Artie replied.

Due to the weight of the vehicle, its sluggish handling and the value of the cargo in the back, getting to Jansport took much longer than usual and Artie sighed in relief as Donnie pointed out the storage unit where it was to be delivered.

Waiting for Donnie to exit, the younger cousin carefully parked the truck inside the storage unit and then pulled down the shutter behind him.

"Alright, we've got that outta the way, now it's time to get paid!" Donnie announced pulling out his cell phone and dialing a number.

"Hey, it's me!" he shouted into the phone, "Listen, my cousin and I got your truck back and we just dropped it off at the storage unit. Whenever you're ready, we'll be over." Listening to what his friend had to say, he nodded and offered a few "uh huhs" and "yeahs" before switching the phone off.

"Alright, looks like we're gonna be heading over to the Burger Shot in Komojack Downs, but there is a catch," Donnie said looking sharply towards his cousin.

Artie groaned loudly at the mention of the word 'catch.'

"What now? Are we gonna have to hijack another vehicle for this guy?" he asked sagging his shoulders.

"Not exactly Cuz, my friend is a very 'shy' individual and is pretty iffy about meeting new people, so he says he'll be wanting to talk to me in the men's room _alone_," Donnie said before offering another sharp stare, "Don't even think about making any jokes about me 'turning tricks' in there either, or else I honestly don't give a shit if you're my cousin or not, I'll blow your fucking head off!"

"Okay, okay I get it! Sheesh, no reason to get all defensive man," Artie said raising his hands into the air protectively. _"Christ, for a guy who's good at dishing it out he sure has a huge problem with having it thrown right back at him."_

Fortunately for the cousins, Komojack Downs wasn't too far away and finding a Faggio scooter nearby, Artie hopped on and took control while Donnie climbed onto the back and they rode over to the aforementioned Burger Shot, where it wasn't too packed for this time of night.

"At least he chose a good place for us to meet," Donnie spoke, intoxicated by the smells of freshly cooked cheeseburgers and French fries.

"Dude, how the fuck can you look forward to this after what happened the last time we were out to eat together? Remember Well Stacked Pizza?" Artie asked with a shudder.

"Cuz, please just quit being a party pooper for once in your life," Donnie said motioning for the front counter. "Anyways, why don't you get yourself something to eat? I'm sure being cooped up in the pen all day long didn't give you time for a decent meal. Please, just relax. My friend is waiting in the bathroom as we speak and I should be in and out in no time."

With those words, Donnie disappeared around the corner leaving his younger cousin alone at the counter, where a short Mexican woman waited patiently for him to approach.

_"The things you'll do when you go an entire day without a decent meal," _he thought to himself, feeling his stomach suddenly growl as if on command at the thought of food.

"Hi there, I'll take one of your Heart Stoppers, a side order of Chicken Balls and a medium Secsi," he said pulling out a ten dollar bill.

"Would you like a complimentary Republican Space Ranger action figure to go with your meal?" the woman asked in heavily-accented English.

"No thank you," Artie said as he waited patiently for his meal, _"Jeez, not only does she barely speak English, she can probably barely see too if she thinks I'm a fucking five year old."_

His meal showed up and he made his way over to the nearest booth, collapsing into it and ravenously tearing away the wrapper, taking a huge bite out of his burger, which actually tasted pretty good. _"I'd definitely better make my trips here few and far between…don't wanna end up like that fat bitch I saw over to Well Stacked when Donnie and I were there," _he thought with a shudder.

Aside from Artie, the only other two people present were some guy with his nose buried in today's issue of 'The Daily Blowhard' and the other an Asian-American woman nodding her head to the beat of some tune playing on her My-Pod. It was a pretty quiet environment compared to the typical fast food joints and was truly surprised when he felt so relaxed in there, normally fearful he would find himself forced to make a mad dash towards the nearest bathroom and emptying out his stomach in some poorly-maintained toilet.

Before he could sink any further into the distractions brought upon by his delicious cheeseburger, Artie was snapped back to reality by his cousin collapsing into the seat across from him with an orange Sprunk in hand, reeking of marijuana smoke.

"Damn, were you getting high in there?" the younger Cappelli asked flaring his nostrils at the rancid stench.

"Nah, my friend loves his Mary Jane," Donnie replied before producing an off-white envelope, "Here's proof I wasn't."

Opening the envelope Artie counted a fresh stack of dollar bills, finding five thousand dollars waiting just for him.

"See Cuz, there are times I actually can be a man of my word," Donnie smiled.

"That's good, at least you're not a liar on the same level as Gino," Artie laughed, "Christ, knowing him he probably would've promised me five million dollars and instead give me a five with six zeroes drawn on it."

"No shit, no wonder he lives where he does and does what he does for a living," Donnie smirked.

"Hey, just remember I live under that roof too…for now at least," Artie replied, finding himself a little disturbed by such comments and leaning closer towards his cousin, "Haven't you ever thought about maybe lending him some money here and there? I don't know if you've really heard or not, but he's been in some trouble with the Redcoats recently, not to forget some big talking snake in the grass named Johnny Sneed, who I honestly think would tear his heart out and eat it right in front of him if given the chance."

Donnie looked at him strangely; as if it would take him time to contemplate his reply instead of giving him what should have been a simple yes or no answer.

"I've honestly tried reaching out to him, but he never replies. It's almost as if he's avoiding me or something. I'm a very busy man and I don't have the time to just go over and visit whenever I please."

Artie snickered at the reply, "Yeah, banging everything that moves."

Donnie didn't laugh and continued to stare at him, "Artie, I do a lot of things for my friends, stuff that often leaves me with little time for my own family. Call it selfish if you want, but I've gotta have a life too you know."

"Well blood is thicker than water, I'm sure that's something Uncle Leo must've tried to teach you when you were little," Artie replied before taking a bite out of a Chicken Ball, "I'm sure Gino would do the same for you if he had your kind of money."

Now it was Donnie's turn to snicker, "Are you fucking shitting me? If Gino had my kind of money he'd be fucking gambling it away in a Liberty City minute, which is the reason why he'll never have my kind of money."

"Well I guess you got me there," Artie said before his mind went back to the warehouse, "So did you get everybody there? No stragglers left unaccounted for?"

"What?" Donnie asked cocking an eyebrow at him, "Cuz, you were there. You saw how we turned that dump into a bloodbath. Of course everybody was dealt with."

"Including that gray-haired guy?" Artie asked.

"What gray-haired guy?" Donnie replied, "I never saw anybody matching that description there."

"Are you sure?" Artie asked, "When I was on the rooftop I looked into the warehouse and I saw some gray-haired guy in a brown leather jacket chatting with some of the guards. He definitely wasn't Cuban and he didn't look Italian either, so I wonder who the hell he could've been with."

"What the fuck?" Donnie muttered to himself, "I certainly didn't see anybody else around there aside from those wetbacks. If anybody else was there, they most likely got out before yours truly could rip them a new one."

A sly saxophone solo sounded and Donnie raised his cell phone, indicating he had just received a text message, "Speaking of which, I have to be on my way."

"Me too," Artie said before burping, the usual indicator he was done with a meal and went to empty his tray.

The two cousins made their way outside and Donnie hailed a cab, which to Artie's dismay was a Borgnine cab.

"Hey, thanks for your help Cuz. I truly appreciate it," the elder Cappelli said extending his hand.

"No problem," Artie said returning the handshake.

"Hey, you need a lift?" Donnie said waving him inside, "I can have him drop you off back at Camden Heights."

Just as Artie was about to reply, he looked over and saw a bright red Sabre GT parked across the street from him.

"Nah, you go on. I think I've already got a ride," the younger cousin replied.

"Sure thing," Donnie said climbing into the cab, but then peeked his head back out, "Oh and one more thing Artie stop by the gym every now and then! Seriously, you look like a fucking pansy!"

_"Gee thanks Cuz, that's sure a nice thing to say to the very man who just helped your sorry ass out," _Artie thought making his way over to the muscle car and smashing the driver's side window open with his elbow.

_"I promised Zeke I'd make it up to him for getting his old car blown up. I think he'll definitely like this bad boy," _the hired gun told himself as he hotwired the car and smiled as the engine roared with life.

"Time to roll," he told himself, switching the radio's station over to Rock of Rushmore 89.5, playing "Jet City Woman" by Queensryche.

"Time to roll," he said pulling away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends what turned out to be another speedy installment of "Rushmore City" and once again I let out the obligatory "Whoo!"

The internet café's name Cyber-Ing is a reference to the online sexual practice of cybering, again I was keeping in step with Rockstar's penchant for toilet humor.

"Rushmore's Most Wanted" is a parody of "America's Most Wanted" and Chris Walsh is a parody of Chris Hansen from "To Catch a Predator" and John Walsh from AMW.

The scene with all of the pedophiles killing themselves was inspired by the "Le Petit Tourette" episode of South Park where Cartman pretended to have Tourette's Syndrome and then went on that spoof of "To Catch a Predator" where all those pedophiles showed up and when they saw Chris Hansen they're all like "Oh my god, it's Chris Hansen!" and then started committing mass suicide.

Hell Within is a badass metalcore band from Massachusetts and I wanted to incorporate some of their music in here since I don't think they get enough attention. For those of you who don't know anything about them, they sound kind of like As I Lay Dying.

I also had to throw in the obligatory mockery of the Blue Brothers whom you had to escort back to Maisonette 9 in one of the Club Management missions from "The Ballad of Gay Tony." They're based upon the Jonas Brothers, so of course they HAD to be made fun of by yours truly.

Secsi is meant to be a spoof of Pepsi!

Well alright I think that's it for my post-chapter rant so until then read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	19. No Pain, No Gain

Chapter 19: No Pain, No Gain

_"The freaking nerve of my cousin, saying that I look like a pansy after the way I helped him out last night!" _Artie thought bitterly to himself as he pulled the Sentinel into the parking lot of Silver's Gym in Horgate, _"He would've fucking died out there if I wasn't covering his ass from above."_

Silver's Gym was a small ivory building that would have looked like any typical shop had it not been for the winged man effortlessly lifting the large weights painted on the exterior wall facing the street.

_"I'll show his ass. Besides, it's been a while since I've really managed to get myself a good workout anyway, at least one that doesn't involve me nearly getting myself killed," _he thought stepping into the late morning sunlight, still feeling a little tired after all the strenuous work he had been put through the night before. He was clad in a blue track jacket with gold trim, a pair of matching athletic shorts, a white muscle t-shirt underneath and some black, blue and gold athletic shoes.

_"Time to shut Donnie up once and for all," _he thought to himself approaching the front door, until he heard the thumping bass of a car stereo and jumped as a cobalt blue Banshee with a white racing stripe peeled into the gym's parking lot and skidded to a halt in the first available parking spot, which Artie coincidentally stood in front of.

_"Speak of the Devil," _the Italian-American thought to himself as his cousin Donnie sat in the driver's seat, bopping his head to the beat of Eminem's "Without Me" before killing the engine.

"Well I'll be fucking damned, my little cousin decided not to pussy out after all!" the elder Cappelli cousin boomed stepping out of the sports car and removing his blue-tinted shades. "Good to see ya' Cuz. You here to get all nice and bulked up just like Big D?" he asked, flexing his covered muscles. Donnie himself was clad in a purple and black track suit with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Gee, I thought I was big enough already," Artie retorted, "Guess I have to eat steroids for breakfast in order to be 'big' enough for you, don't I?"

Donnie laughed stridently at the remark, "Aw c'mon Cuz, you know I'm just yanking your chain," he said with a playful punch to his cousin's shoulder.

Inside the place was much larger than what it appeared to be and definitely much cleaner than expected.

There were a few people peddling on exercise bikes, running on treadmills or just lifting weights. A boxing ring sat off to the left, where two men were engaged in a sparring session. In an adjoining room he could hear Gina G's "Ooh Aah…Just a Little Bit" booming from within, which he assumed was probably an aerobics class.

_"I guess this place shouldn't have been too much of a dump if it was recommended by Donnie of all people," _Artie thought looking over to his cousin as he removed his track jacket.

"So what's first on the agenda Cuz? Lifting weights? Some cardio? Gonna climb into the ring and whoop some pansy ass?" Donnie asked shadow boxing while motioning towards the ring.

"Hmmm, now that I think about it, I might lift some weights, maybe then I won't look like such a 'pansy' to you then," Artie said looking over to a freed up weight bench and then back to his cousin, "How about you Cuz?"

Donnie wasn't looking at any of the equipment, focusing entirely on a light-skinned African-American woman with long straight black hair in a light blue sports bra that barely contained her ample breasts and some tight black spandex shorts that showed most of her long toned legs and emphasized her thick round ass.

"I think I've got my own kind of 'workout' in mind," he replied with a wink, "Now if you'll excuse me," he said following the woman towards the locker room area.

"Pervert," Artie hissed while approaching the workout bench and laying back. Taking a couple of deep breaths he gripped the bar and began performing a series of reps.

It had been a while since he had worked out in an actual gym and it came back to him rather quickly, strong enough he was able to lift the weights without a spotter present, not exactly the smartest workout strategy, but one he still felt comfortable enough with.

_"At least this place is more sanitary and actually _looks_ like a gym compared to that crumbling shack I had to work out at up in Bohan," _he thought while completing his final rep and taking another deep breath, letting his arms fall limply to the sides. Slowly sitting up he looked around for more ideas, seeing men doing sit ups and pushups on the mats next to him, another doing pull ups and a few more guys punching away at the heavy bags in front of them.

_"Nah, I don't think I wanna be too sore after what I did the night before," _Artie told himself as he climbed onto an exercise bike and started peddling at a gentle pace.

_"Besides, who knows when I'll be needed again-" _the hired gun was thinking to himself until L.L. Cool J's "Mama Said Knock You Out" suddenly filled the air.

All of the other patrons stopped everything they were doing and turned their attention to the front entrance, where a short man wearing shades and a turned around baseball cap came in with a boombox on his shoulder, blasting the tune and trying to dance simultaneously.

Behind him came two other men, the first being another short man with a shaved head and prominent red eyebrows, wearing a Rushmore City Statesmen baseball cap and dark blue jogging outfit with a towel draped around his neck, looking like an athletic coach.

"Oh yeah! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! I'm feeling the intensity today baby!" the final entrant called out shuffling his way into the gym, grunting loudly and jabbing away at the air in front of him. The man was roughly around Artie's height with his auburn hair shaved in a crewcut and wearing a pair of aviator-style sunglasses, a black and gold track suit, black and white athletic shoes, and had several rings on his fingers and several necklaces dangling around his neck, "That's right bitches, the 'Almighty Southern Stomper' has entered the building and he's ready to kick some serious ass!"

"Who the fuck is this clown?" Artie asked aloud, unimpressed as the loudmouthed maniac bounced around like he was in a boxing ring, stopping to growl and pound his chest at anybody unfortunate enough to be standing near him.

"C'mon you bitches! I'm feeling fucking bulletproof! Any of you scrawny weaklings wanna step into my ring? Goddamn I'm so stoked right now I could rip a man's fucking arms off and fucking beat him to death with them, and then rip his head off and shit down his fucking neck!" the man screamed climbing into the ring, so intensely his veined looked like they were just seconds away from bursting out of his neck.

"Seriously, who is this guy?" Artie asked a guy riding an exercise bike next to him.

"Clancy Mays, he's some wannabe M.M.A. loser who comes in here all the time wanting to fight everything in sight. He claims to have killed over a hundred people with his bare hands, but seriously I doubt it," the guy replied.

"Alright, which one of you flaming fairies wants to climb into the ring today?" Clancy called out as his assistant switched off the boombox, "I haven't got all fucking day bitches! I could be off fucking five different women in the time it takes any of you wimps to make one tiny little decision!"

"And I thought Donnie was bad," Artie whispered as he joined the other patrons gathering around the ring. Inside Clancy had removed his shades and was calling out to whoever was present, including a Mexican janitor who spoke no English.

"Hey Paco, you go about your measly existence of sweeping up other peoples' shit! You can tell this country's going to the dogs when the liberal bitches who run this place allow your kind to work here without shipping your sorry ass back to the uneducated, inferior pit you crawled out of in the first place!" Clancy called out before guzzling down an entire water bottle and then tossing it at the janitor. "Wait, let me guess, you no speak any English, right? Well me no speak any 'wetback' either bub!"

_"Christ, the only thing this loser is capable of killing is a person's eardrums," _Artie thought clenching his eyes shut and his teeth together as Mays leapt onto the turnbuckle closest to him and started screaming.

"C'mon you losers, this is your chance to step into the ring with greatness! This is your chance to witness the next stage in human evolution! Or is that not good enough motivation to make you all stop being a bunch of sniveling, spineless punk bitches?" he screamed at the top of his lungs while shaking the ropes wildly.

"Aw fuck it, I'm just gonna pick some little punk to take my frustrations out on," he said while dancing around the ring, sizing up the other patrons before finally pointing towards Artie, "Hey you! Yeah you pal, the scrawny loser next to that tub of lard disguised as a woman!"

Artie felt the eyes upon him and sighed loudly, "Let me guess 'Almighty Southern Stomper,' you want me to be the 'limp dicked pansy' to climb into 'your ring' am I correct?"

Clancy suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, "Eh, we got ourselves a comedian in the ranks don't we?" he asked before mock laughing and then staring sharply towards him in an attempt to look intimidating, yet failing miserably, "Well do you see me laughing? Do you bitch? Huh?" he shouted, leaning over the ropes and pointing down towards him.

Artie shrugged his shoulders and replied sarcastically, "No sir, I don't."

"Damn right you don't bitch and you're not gonna be laughing either when you're six feet under! Now get your fucking ass in here so I can beat some respect into your sorry worthless ass!" Clancy hollered and backed himself into the red corner, removing his jacket and sinking onto the stool behind him. His corner man pulled out a towel and began dabbing his head before inserting a mouthpiece into his mouth. "C'mon fruitcake, let's get this shit over with!"

_"Once again Artie, what have you gotten yourself into?" _the Italian-American asked himself climbing the steps and then between the ropes, taking a position in the blue corner.

"Ha! I'm so gonna fuck your little bitch ass up," Clancy called out as he lowered himself to the canvas and began doing pushups to get himself psyched out. Once those were done he began jogging around in circles.

_"Should be a piece of cake," _Artie smirked approaching the center of the ring.

"What are you smiling at faggot?" Clancy spat, "You look pretty happy for somebody who's about to get his teeth knocked down his throat so he can chew his own ass out!"

"Do you really think you should be calling everybody 'faggots' like that? Seriously, you're going to really get yourself into trouble if you keep that up," Artie asked, only to receive a harsh laugh from his opponent.

"Ooh, is that a threat 'macho man?' Huh? Huh? I can already tell you've spent too much time in the liberal schools around these parts, bitch! Well I'm gonna give you a Grade A ass whooping and then I'm gonna go home and fuck your girlfriend!" Clancy shouted back, pushing him hard against the ropes.

Artie caught himself and furrowed his brow at the boastful man, "Alright, you're seriously starting to annoy me."

"Am I? Ooh, is the poor little faggot all butt hurt now? Do you have any idea who you're talking to boy? I'm the 'Almighty Southern Stomper!' I would be the 'Pain Giver' if that faggot Clay Jackson hadn't stolen my nickname and had it copyrighted!

"Anyways, I'm the man who once walked into a Derby City bank right in the middle of a holdup, killed all the robbers with my bare hands, disarmed the bomb strapped to some hot teller lady's chest, and then fucked the same woman all in under seven minutes flat!" the man screamed getting into Artie's face and jabbing his index finger into his chest.

"And you talk about me taking all the time in the world, sheesh, look who's talking bitch!" Artie shouted back, getting some cheers from the crowd, "For a guy who claims to be such a man of action you sure talk a lot!"

Clancy Mays seethed at the interruption, his skin now turning a bright shade of red, "Grr…nobody talks to the 'Almighty Southern Stomper' like that! Nobody! I'm so gonna stomp a mud hole into your faggot ass-"

_THWACK!_

Artie had finally had enough and before the arrogant fighter could continue his homily, he delivered a hard right hook to the man's cheek and sent him falling to the mat.

Clancy Mays looked to the hired gun in disbelief before he finally started writhing about like he was in serious pain, bawling like a baby.

His trainer and boombox carrying assistant both stumbled into the ring and took a position over their fallen charge.

"Oh my god, Clancy, speak to me!" his trainer called out trying to stabilize his client's head, "Speak to me damn it!"

"My face! He touched my beautiful face!" the downed fighter shrieked as if somebody had just blasted him with a shotgun, "He touched my beautiful face!"

Artie couldn't help but chuckle at the pathetic sight lying before him, knowing the man would probably have just a bruise and that's it.

"_I could've blown the bastard's head off for all I care," _he told himself as he was about to exit the ring, only to be stopped by Clancy's trainer grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Boy, do you have any idea what you just did?" the smaller man demanded.

"Yeah, I just shut his fucking big mouth for him," Artie said freeing himself from the man's grasp.

"No, you just royally fucked over the card at the Bear Cage! Clancy was supposed to be fighting in the main event!" the trainer whined.

"So what pal? That's not my problem. You should've told your meal ticket over there to keep his goddamned mouth shut and then maybe you wouldn't be in this situation right now," Artie grunted.

"Look mister, you don't understand, if we don't have a card happen there we don't make any money and that means that snake Johnny Sneed is going to send some of his goons down and fucking bomb the place all to hell!" the trainer whimpered.

"Johnny Sneed?" Artie repeated, halted by the mention of the antagonistic loan shark's name. The trainer now had his full attention.

"Yeah Johnny Sneed, that bastard has been breathing down our necks for God knows how long, always threatening to 'deal with us' if we don't repay that loan he gave us for repairing my gym," the trainer continued.

"That son of a bitch," Artie said shaking his head before looking towards the trainer, "Hmm, tell me is there any way I can help you deal with this matter so that nobody else has to worry about being bullied by that no good piece of shit? I have my own history with him terrorizing my cousin."

The trainer looked at him oddly before glancing back to the fallen Clancy and his assistant, the former babbling incoherently as an ice pack was applied to the side of his face. Reaching into his pocket the trainer produced a business card and handed it to him.

"Alright, that's where it's at. Just show up and be ready to fight," the trainer said before returning his attention to his fallen charge, who had a faraway glance in his eyes and continued to babble nonstop as he was helped from the ring.

The name on the card was listed as that of Murphy Molineaux, a 'trainer of future stars,' and saying the club was located on Jutland Drive in the accursed Steel Junction district.

"_Well if it means I can help strike a blow against that Johnny Sneed fucker, then I guess it's worth another trip," _Artie thought hearing some loud clapping.

Turning around the hired gun found Donnie standing behind him clapping loudly, "That's how a Cappelli does it! You sure shut his fucking trap!"

Upon closer inspection, Artie saw his cousin was dripping wet underneath his track suit, "What the hell man?"

Donnie looked down at the water stains beneath his outfit, "Oh…that…"

"I thought you were doing some kind of 'workout,'" the younger Cappelli inquired making his way down the ring steps.

"Umm yeah…it sort of ended up in the women's shower area," Donnie chuckled dabbing his forehead with a towel.

"Whatever you say," Artie said rolling his eyes before displaying the business card, "Well I guess I've just found myself in another jam and surprisingly, it's one you didn't get me into."

"Going back to the Steel Junction district, huh?" Donnie asked reading the business card, "Sucks to be you, Cuz."

"Well at least it's a chance to strike another blow at that Johnny Sneed prick, can't go wrong with that. Fuck, I'd walk barefoot over ten miles of broken glass and razor wire just to punch him in the face if I could," Artie said walking over to pick up his track jacket.

"I'd love to see that happen too, but unfortunately I have a prior commitment," Donnie explained as they made their way outside.

"Let me guess, one of your 'friends' is having you over for Scrabble tonight, huh?" Artie asked as Donnie approached his Banshee, "Or am I wrong and you have some random sexual encounter with yet another woman to attend to?"

Donnie only laughed in reply, "Something involving the friends, you got that part right."

"Would be nice if you were that committed to your own brother," Artie muttered under his breath, going unheard as Donnie fired up the convertible's engine and began blasting some tunes with the bass turned up, this time it was "Still D.R.E." by Dr. Dre featuring Snoop Dogg. Screeching out of its parking spot, the convertible sped off down the street and rounded a corner, disappearing from sight.

"Sometimes I don't know about that guy," Artie said shaking his head, _"What the fuck am I saying? I _never_ know with that guy."_

He was interrupted from his thoughts by his ringing cell phone and he looked down at the caller ID screen to see Zeke was calling him.

Switching on the phone he spoke, "What's up?"

"_Hey Artie, dude Randy and I are going to see 'Cyber Dude 2.' We were wondering if you wanted to join us. It's 'Official Cyber Dude Bobblehead Night' over at the Cosmo-Plex. Whatta ya' say?"_

"I'm sorry Zeke, but I've kind of got a dilemma," Artie said climbing into the Sentinel, not wanting the rest of the world to hear what was going on in his life.

"_Dude what the fuck? This is fucking Cyber Dude we're talking about here! This movie has fucking Jack Howitzer playing his arch nemesis Angry Dragon! How they finally got that one dimensional has been to play a villain is beyond me, but believe me, I'm itching to finally watch him be the one getting his fucking head blown off!" _Zeke hooted from the other end.

"I'm afraid this isn't something I can just back out of Zeke. I fucked up some schmuck down at the gym and now I have to take his place down at some fighting tournament in some dump called the Bear Cage in that Steel Junction shithole," Artie grunted.

"_The Bear Cage? Holy shit dude, Randy and I know a guy who fights there! He's one of our 'war buddies.' Why didn't you say something man? Maybe he could help us out!" _Zeke replied.

"Because you were in the middle of having a wet dream about Cyber Dude," Artie retorted, "Besides, I hear Johnny Sneed has some kind of vested interest in this whole operation and I'm only doing my part to make sure he can't push somebody else around. It's bad enough he already pushes you and Gino around."

"_I'm hearing you on that bro', hmm maybe we can afford to put Cyber Dude off for one day, but if we end up having to miss it again tomorrow, then so be it I'll finally follow through with my threat of shoving my shotgun up your ass and pulling the trigger," _Zeke said, the pumping of a shotgun sounding in the background.

"I take it you and Randy wanna tag along then?"

"_Sure thing, be over to pick us up as soon as you can. You'd better make it quick, or else Randy's gonna up and go to the theater anyway."_

"Alright, I'll be over in a little bit," Artie said switching his phone off.

Turning on his radio he flipped through the channels until he happened across Rock of Rushmore 89.5, which was currently playing "Dangerous Bastard" by Love Fist, a song he hadn't heard in quite a while.

He snickered to himself, remembering how Gino used to be really into Love Fist back in their heyday and attempted to grow his hair out long, just like frontman Jezz Torrent, only to receive a ladle upside the head from Aunt Sophie for 'looking like a savage.' The thought of the now balding Gino with long, feathered hair never failed to crack him up.

"_Those were the days," _he thought, pondering what had happened to the rest of Love Fist, knowing only of Jezz Torrent's current whereabouts on his MeTV reality show 'Fist of Love.'

It was another largely uneventful ride back to The Little Black Book, with the hired gun passing more of those blue vested Aces outside of a records store and crossing paths with more than one biker gang on occasion.

Pulling up outside the bar, Artie saw both Zeke and Randy waiting for him and honked the horn to signal his arrival. Both men quickly ran to the car and climbed in, Zeke taking shotgun while Randy climbed into the backseat.

"Good to see you again," Zeke said fastening his seatbelt.

"This has better be damned good if it means we have to miss the premiere of 'Cyber Dude 2,' I wanted a damned bobblehead and I'm not waiting to go on eSwype to get one!" Randy groaned from the backseat.

"Randy, will you please shut the fuck up for once? We're going down to see Dal," Zeke shot back, "Besides, there'll probably be a late night show anyway, then you can say you still saw it on opening night."

"You'd so better not be yanking my chain, or else I swear to God I will make you my bitch a million times over," the former Cluckin' Bell cashier retorted.

"Good luck with that," Artie chuckled while waving back to some ladies in a passing Blade lowrider convertible.

"Hey, I've been watching martial arts movies! Who says I can't learn a thing here and there?" Randy asked climbing forth and almost shouting in Artie's ear.

"Well if you learned anything you certainly weren't showing it the other day when I had to save your ass from those 'roid freaks," Artie replied.

"And it's not the first time he's bitten off far more than he can chew," Zeke laughed.

"Hey fuck you Zeke! You're supposed to have my back man! Don't think I won't kick your fucking ass too!" Randy shouted back.

"Randy, are you fucking kidding me? I still remember the time you tried fighting that frat boy when we were at that Alpha Omega Pi beer blast! You thought you were going to be able to nail him with that 'Barn Burner' move you saw Deliverance Dick perform on Iron Toe on R.S.W.A.'s 'Saturday Night Showcase,' but instead you ended up throwing out your back and with your head shoved into a toilet filled with turds the size of anacondas!" Zeke shouted, eliciting a few snickers from Artie.

"Did you really have to bring that up?" Randy groaned covering his eyes in shame, "You have no idea how much time I spent in therapy over that…"

"Okay, you guys can stop your lovers' quarrel now, we're almost there," Artie said while struggling not to laugh.

Artie slowed down a little as he turned onto Jutland Drive, keeping a close eye out for any buildings where there seemed to be a lot of activity. He kept driving until he happened across an opened gate and peering through it, saw a bunch of vehicles parked outside an old Sprunk bottling factory, ranging from shabby Declasse Yosemites and rusted out Stallions to high-performance Turismo, Bullet GT and Cheetah sports cars to the more luxurious Stinger and Super Diamonds.

"This must be the place," he said pulling into the yard and taking a spot next to 1940 Fjord Thunder-Rodd. Stepping out of the car he activated the alarm, prompting a few stares from several tough-looking men who were standing around either smoking or drinking, some of them probably being fighters who had just participated judging by their fresh cuts and bruises. One of them looked the Sentinel up and down, only to be met by a rough glare from Artie, as if to tell him _"Go ahead, I dare you to try."_

"Yeah this is the place, now can we please get inside already?" Randy asked as he noticed a few of the patrons checking him out the way a lifer checks out a prospective prison bitch.

"Sure thing," Artie said letting Zeke lead the way.

The trio made their way inside and walked down a long, narrow hallway before descending a flight of stairs which had been guarded by two men in biker outfits with baseball bats in hand, only serving to heighten the existing tension.

They eventually entered an open area converted into a makeshift club, where people were either sitting around on the ratty couches getting drunk, downing shots at the crudely set up bar in the corner, playing pool, air hockey or darts, or just socializing in general. Slayer's song "Cult" blasted over the hastily set up speakers, causing Randy to cover his ears and lower his head.

"Okay, my allergies are acting up," he snorted as he did whatever he could to dodge the plumes of cigarette and marijuana smoke congesting the air.

Artie ignored the comment and made his way towards the back of the room, where two more bikers stood guard near a curtained entranceway, leading to a room where they could hear loud cheers and grunts of pain coming from within.

"Sorry princess, we don't allow any weapons in here…unless they're provided for the actual fights," one of the bikers, a long-haired man said placing his meaty arm in front of the curtain, "Anything you have has to go."

Sighing in frustration, Artie pulled out his Glock 22 and surrendered it to the biker.

"Go on in. If you're here to fight you sit on the benches up front," the man said in his husky tone before pulling the curtain aside.

The fighting arena was literally set up like a cage, an octagon to be exact, which took up most of the space and left little room for the overzealous spectators to stand, forcing them to literally press themselves against the chain-link structure. The same music playing in the club area blared over the speakers in the arena, adding to the atmosphere's intensity.

Inside there were two men fighting in a back and forth contest, one a tall man with his brown hair cropped closely to his head and wearing a sleeveless t-shirt advertising Condoleeza-Cheney brand beer, bloodstained blue jeans and a pair of black leather gloves.

His opponent was an African-American male with a shaved head and wearing a sweat-stained wife beater with flecks of blood on it and black track pants with white trim.

"Holy shit, Dal's fighting!" Zeke called out motioning towards the African-American fighter.

Both men circled each other before locking into a clinch, the white man then proceeding to drive his fist into Dal's side, while stomping on both of his feet at the same time.

Dal tried pushing the man off, but soon found himself thrust into the fencing, where some of the riotous fans grabbed onto him and left him open for his opponent to pound away at him.

"C'mon Dal, fuck his ass up!" Zeke shouted as the black man struggled, until he finally managed to get a foot up and strike his opponent in the stomach. Shaking himself away from the spectators, Dal threw himself at his opponent and mounted him, punching away until he was stopped by an elbow to the face.

"Excuse me, but just how good is this friend of yours?" Artie asked as the white man pushed himself back to his feet and then kicked Dal hard in his right kneecap before flooring him again with an uppercut.

"So far he's had 20 victories, 16 of them being knockouts, 3 losses and 1 draw, pretty good overall record if you ask me," Randy explained before wincing as Dal took a knee to the groin, "This normally isn't like him, trust me," he said before the other man threw his friend face first into the fencing, busting his forehead wide open.

Rearing his leg back, the other fighter went for a big boot directed at Dal's neck, but the trained boxer was the quicker of the two and spun out of the way, bringing his leg up to strike his opponent in the hamstring area while the man's foot was still pressed against the fencing.

"I ain't dead yet," Dal said to his opponent before he unleashed a flurry of rapid fire punches upon his opponent's face, following with a blow to the man's stomach, a stomp on his left foot and then a sweeping kick that took the man to the ground. He then performed a picture perfect elbow drop and then followed up with a knee bar submission hold like the kind Artie had seen plenty of times on W.T.F.'s (Worldwide Technical Fighters) weekly programming, wrenching on the other man's leg before he finally tapped the ground, indicating he had submitted.

A bell rang and an announcer's voice suddenly boomed over the intercom, _"Ladies and gentlemen, your winner is Dallas 'the Street Sweeper' Morrow!"_

"Hell yeah!" Zeke and Randy cried in unison and began hooting and hollering wildly as their friend raised his fists in triumph, soaking up the crowd's adulation before limping out of the cage.

"Holy shit Dal; you sure kicked that guy's fucking ass!" Zeke shouted towards the exiting fighter, who perked up at the mention of his name.

"Well I'll be damned, Zeke Jones and Randy Spitz, what brings your cracker asses down here?" the triumphant fighter boomed as he wiped some blood away from his face with a towel before reaching over to shake hands with his two friends.

"Our friend is here to fight," the bartender said motioning towards Artie, "Dal Morrow, this is our friend Artie Cappelli, my boss' cousin."

"Pleased to meet you," Artie said reaching over to shake the man's hand.

"Likewise bro'," Dal said before grabbing his personal bag, "Man, if you're here to fight then it looks like you're going to be in the main event. I hope you're ready for that."

Artie looked at him awkwardly, while Zeke and Randy suddenly looked terrified.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded looking into the cage to see Dal's opponent being helped outside.

"The main events around here get pretty brutal," Randy said, "Seriously man; people have actually died in some of them, especially when weapons are allowed."

"Yeah, I remember watching some fucker going hog wild with a chainsaw in there one time," Dal added looking at some long ago dried bloodstains, "He holds the record for the shortest match in Bear Cage history."

"Boy, you sure know how to lift one's spirits," Artie sarcastically retorted.

"Oh shit, that bastard Sneed's here!" Zeke said pointing towards a catwalk, where the loan shark stood in all his haughty, pretentious glory with his ever present bodyguards at his side.

The hired gun forced himself to suppress a feral growl that wanted to escape his lips. Every time he saw the man or even thought of him, he wanted to kill him in cold blood. The malicious thought burned bright in his mind, nearly overpowering his sense of self-control.

"I don't fucking believe it," Zeke grunted, shifting his gaze back and forth between the catwalk and his friends before looking back to Artie, "If he sees you here who knows what'll happen."

"Well it's too late to back out now," Artie said looking around to the raucous fans, who were hungry for blood and would likely raze the place to the ground if they were denied their fix of carnage. He felt someone tap on his shoulder and turned around to find Randy pulling a black and gold mask from his pocket.

"I knew this would come in handy sooner or later," he said placing the mask in Artie's hand, "It's my brother's El Abejorro Luchador mask."

"Lucha what?" Artie asked staring at his companion in puzzlement.

"A Luchador is a Mexican professional wrestler," Randy explained, "Look; just wear this for now and that way Sneed won't know who you are."

"Fine," Artie replied accepting the mask and pulling it over his head.

He turned around and looked to the cage, where seven more men were already entering.

"What the hell is this?" Artie asked looking towards the other men.

"Ooh, looks like they're going for the eight man match," Dal explained, "Those get pretty bloody, so I'd really watch my ass if I were you."

"Like I said Dal, you're really a lot of help," the Italian-American sarcastically replied as he approached the cage door and made his way inside.

Right away the other fighters were looking him over closely and beginning to make smart comments.

"What's the matter boy? Afraid you're gonna wreck your pretty little face?" taunted one man, a tall, burly guy with his curly hair covered by a Confederate flag pattern bandana, a pair of torn blue jeans and black biker boots. A denim vest identified him as a member of the Children of Chaos Motorcycle Club, the biker gang acting as security outside.

"And what do we call you? El Joto?" asked a bald Hispanic man wearing camouflage pants and a black hoodie.

"Mask or not, you're still getting your ass kicked boy!" shouted a shirtless black guy who had his hair dyed green and shaved into a Tri-Hawk hairstyle.

"I'm a make ya' squeal baby boy!" called out a tubby man who looked like a hillbilly with his denim overalls, flannel shirt, straw hat and horseshoe necklace.

Aside from the four men making smart comments, his other three challengers were a large Oriental man in a white Asian-style vest with his arms covered in tattoos, who stared towards him menacingly, punching his right fist into his opened left palm, a bald African-American wearing a white dress shirt, red tie and black slacks, who looked more like an office worker than a fighter, and lastly a scrawny man who looked like a medieval knight wearing an iron helmet and makeshift armor, how he did not collapse given his scrawny frame was a mystery to all.

"_Alright ladies and gentlemen, it is time for the main event!"_ the announcer called out over a microphone hanging from the ceiling, the crowd cheering wildly at the announcement. _"As always, this is a no holds barred contest where eight men will go until only one man is left standing and to make things more interesting…there will be weapons involved!"_

The crowd went wild as several objects were tossed into the cage, such as baseball bats, beer bottles, wooden planks, wooden chairs, an old TV set, a frying pan, a steel chair wrapped in barbed wire and even a kitchen sink.

"_Oh yes, there will be blood!"_ the announcer cackled excitedly, _"Oh and there is only one rule, don't be a goddamned pussy! Now ring that fucking bell!"_

A bell soon resounded and on cue, each of the fighters focused their attention on Artie.

"You're dead pretty boy!" the biker shouted, "I'm gonna rip your mask off and hang it from my bike's antenna!"

"_Now this is officially not cool," _Artie told himself as he dodged a haymaker thrown in his direction. The biker followed with a combo of punches and he brought his arms up to deflect the blows, or managed to dodge them completely.

Leaping backwards to avoid the biker, he soon found himself within the grasp of the Oriental man, who licked his lips in anticipation.

Dodging an attempted grab, Artie shot his foot out and caught the larger man in the groin, following up with a right cross that caught him in the face, then a punching combo that forced him backward and tripping over the TV set.

"I'm gonna be punching more than my timecard today!" another voice called out, this one belonging to the office worker. The man tried to deliver a right hook, which Artie managed to avoid, responding with a kick to the man's stomach and then an uppercut that floored him.

"Come here!" he heard the Tri-Hawk guy call out and found himself trapped in a crushing bear hug, clamping down on his ribs with all the force he could muster while lifting him into the air and shaking him wildly.

Artie tried punching the man in the side of his head, but the force left him unable to move his arms and out of desperation, he head butted the man hard in the face, breaking his nose beneath his masked cranium. Finally released from his grasp, he shoved the man backwards into the recovering Oriental, who had just risen back to his feet and took great offense. It provided a welcome distraction as the two men began pounding away at each other.

Before Artie could celebrate his reprieve, he found himself being shoved into the cage and then being held in place by the rowdy spectators.

"Gotcha where I want cha' now, little bitch!" the Hispanic chuckled as he began to pound away at the hired gun, driving his fist repeatedly into Artie's face, chest and stomach before taking a forearm to the stomach that felt like he was being hit by a steel girder. "The end is near chico!" the man shouted before throwing him to the ground and stomping away at his back.

"Fuck!" Artie grunted in pain as the man pounded away leaving him with no room to move. All he could do now was lay there and take it as any attempts to crawl away were met with him having his hands stomped on. The beating continued until the officer worker attempted to join in but then there was a loud _'thwack'_ and he looked up to see the Hispanic brawler clubbing the office worker with his forearm.

"Pussy Libre is mine bitch!" the brawler shouted back, his repeated blows busting the worker's forehead open and staining his white dress shirt a dark shade of crimson before the latter man was knocked to the ground. Before the Hispanic man could react, he was tackled to the ground by the armored man.

Artie tried to push himself back to his feet, but before he could rise he was met by a hard blow to the back, followed by several pointed barbs digging their way into his flesh.

"Don't think I forgot about you little man," the biker called out from behind him, placing a boot to his lower back and pushing him away, forcefully ripping the steel chair wrapped in barbed wire away from him.

The hired gun roared in pain as he felt the fresh tears all over his back and the warm coppery blood streaming from the newly-inflicted wounds.

"Oh shit, c'mon Artie! C'mon damn it!" Zeke shouted as he watched the biker drawing the chair back and winding up for a powerful blow that would likely both scramble his friend's brains and rip most of the flesh away from his head along with his mask.

Artie had to avoid getting too close to the fence, knowing what the rowdy fans would do to him if he got too close. He staggered about feeling the pain wracking throughout his upper torso, the fresh blood covering his hands.

"Artie look out!" he heard Randy's voice shout above everyone else's and he instinctively ducked to the ground, just as the biker went for a power swing with the chair that would instead clash with the fencing.

"Shit," Artie muttered to himself finding himself on his hands and knees just as the hillbilly fell to the ground next to him, landing atop several bottles and sending one rolling towards him. Driven by instinct alone, the hitman grabbed the glass bottle and twisted his body around to toss the beer bottle right into the biker's face, forcing the man to finally drop his chair.

"_That son of a fucking bitch! There's gonna be payback for that!" _the hired gun thought as he reached down for the closest weapon he could find, being the frying pan, and struck the biker in the face as hard as he could, breaking the man's nose and sending him falling back against the fencing a bloody mess. He brutally pummeled the man with the kitchen utensil until his skull was busted open.

He swung around to find the officer worker lying on the pavement, in the middle of receiving a brutal beating at the hands of the Tri-Hawk guy, who would then finish him off by grabbing the wooden chair and proceeding to pound his skull in until the chair was reduced to splinters and the man's head was nothing but a bloody mess.

At the other side of the cage the Oriental and the hillbilly continued to duke it out in a mini war of attrition with neither side showing any signs of backing down, the former now attempting to fight back with a wooden baseball bat as his opponent had scooped up another wooden chair.

Looking down Artie found the old television set and an evil grin crossed his features beneath the mask.

Scooping it up, he grunted beneath its weight before getting it into position and with a mighty heave, chucked it right into the hillbilly's back, an explosion of plastic, glass and wood as it connected. Judging by the man's labored breathing it had not killed him, but had injured him a great deal and left him wide open for the Asian man to split his skull open with a powerful swing for the fences.

In one of the corners the hoodie-wearing thug pounded the crap out of the armored man, whose heavy armor had proven to be his downfall and left him wide open to be beaten mercilessly by a wooden plank and his armor now resembled a crumpled soda can. The beating continued until the plank broke and the armored man screamed no more.

It was now down to the final four, Artie, the Oriental, Tri-Hawk Guy and the Mexican.

"It ain't over yet puta!" the Mexican said spotting a wooden chair lying nearby and charging towards it.

Artie knew of the man's intention and knew there was no way he would beat the man to that chair. He had to think fast and knew he was going to need a weapon and looked down for whatever he could find, his only alternative being a beer bottle. He quickly scooped it up and tossed it towards the Mexican, who raised the chair to block the incoming projectile.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, holmes" the man laughed, poking the chair towards him like a fencer would his sword to deter his opponent from advancing.

The kitchen sink lay near the downed office worker and seeing it as a means of defense; Artie rushed over and scooped it up, barely dodging the ensuing struggle between Tri-Hawk and the Oriental, and then slowly advanced towards his opponent, using it as a crude shield when the man swung the chair at him. A loud clang echoed, followed by another as the man took a second swing. Kicking his leg out, he heard a grunt from the other end, followed by the clanging of wood on concrete. He then attempted to toss the sink at his opponent, but the man leapt out of the way.

"Too slow ese," the man laughed as he leapt at Artie and shoulder tackled him to the ground.

Before he could react, Artie grunted as he was assailed by a flurry of fists driven into his masked face, followed by a knee being driven into his stomach.

"This is gonna be your gravesite gringo!" the man said before spitting in his face and then punching and kicking him some more.

"_Goddamn it Artie! Think damn it think!" _his mind screamed as his arms flailed about while taking another boot to the side. He pulled himself forth, feeling his hand brushing against something glass, another beer bottle. Wiggling his fingers, he rolled the bottle into his grasp and brought his arm up to strike his opponent in the side of the head.

Freed from the man's grasp, Artie rolled off to the side and struggled back to his feet, watching as the hoodie-wearing man howled in pain.

"_Time to finish this," _he told himself before charging the man and delivering a powerful haymaker that sent the man staggering backwards, yet the man caught himself before he could collide with the fencing. Keeping on his opponent, the hitman drove his fist into the man's gut, only to wince in pain and shake his aching hand. Out of desperation the Mexican launched a forearm strike and again it felt like he was being struck by steel.

"_What the fuck is that guy made of?" _Artie asked himself feeling the fresh wave of pain coursing through his midsection as the Oriental fell next to him, blood gushing from countless gashes following a series of wet hacking noises. The Tri-Hawk guy stood tall over him with a broken beer bottle in hand, fresh blood dripping from its jagged edges.

"Now you're next bitch!" the man laughed, only to be knocked from his feet by a baseball bat.

"This is my kill nigger boy!" the Mexican thug shouted before striking the downed man repeatedly.

It was now down to Artie and the hoodie-wearing man, who glared menacingly at him.

"Now where was I, joto? Oh yeah, I was gonna bash your fucking skull in, but before I do that, why don't I embarrass your punk ass a little more?" the man asked and then Artie could feel him tugging at his mask.

"_Shit, this crazy bastard's gonna unmask me! If he does that, Zeke and Randy are as good as dead!" _Artie thought to himself as the thug wrenched back on his neck, remembering Johnny's presence.

"I bet you're pretty ugly if you gotta hide behind a mask cabron," the thug spat yanking harder on the mask, the crowd calling for him to get it off.

Again finding himself acting out of desperation, Artie bit down on the man's fingers and managed to free one of his hands, tearing at the man's sleeve and revealing the steel plate strapped to his forearm underneath.

"Motherfucker," Artie rasped as he began to shake his head wildly trying to get the man off of him, but the thug managed to wrap an arm around his neck, trying to snap it like a twig.

Summoning his strength, the Italian-American rolled himself over onto his back with the thug still on top of him, freeing one of his arms and driving it into the man until he finally let go and mounted him, pounding the man into bloody submission until he was sure the man wouldn't get up again.

When the man didn't rise the bell rang and several onlookers fell silent in disbelief.

"_Well I'll be damned ladies and gentlemen, looks like we have ourselves a winner, some random mask-wearing guy!" _the announcer called out with forced enthusiasm.

Some people cheered while others booed, but none of it mattered to Artie as he looked up towards the catwalk, where Johnny Sneed clapped half-heartedly at the end result and then said something to his bodyguards before disappearing from sight.

"_That's right, you get the fuck out of here you slimy bastard. It's bad enough when you're pushing my family around, but worse when I know he's not the only one being harassed," _the victorious fighter thought before staggering towards the door he came from.

As he exited, he looked over his shoulder to see the Hispanic man being tended to by some onlookers, while the dead bodies were hauled out by some of the bikers. Aside from the hoodie-wearing fighter, no one else showed any signs of life.

"_Time to get the hell outta here," _he thought stepping outside to be met by Zeke, Randy and Dal.

"Dude, now that was some fucking badass fighting in there!" Zeke called out excitedly as he helped his friend over to a nearby bench, while Dal pulled out some towels to help stop his bleeding.

"El Abejorro would be proud my friend," Randy said offering him a water bottle.

"Yeah, whatever," Artie grunted as he accepted the water and took a long chug.

Everybody quieted down as the hired gun was approached by a bald man in a Children of Chaos vest, holding a stack of bills in his hand.

"Alright Mask Guy, you might've taken out a brother, but you still won fair and square so here are your earnings. Now get the fuck outta here before we change our minds about letting you leave here alive!" the man said before disappearing from sight.

Zeke shuffled through the stack of bills to see Artie had just made one thousand dollars for his troubles.

"Shit, that's more than I made," Dal grunted, "although I doubt I'd wanna be in any main event with you bro', not after the way you fucking killed those guys in there."

Artie managed a weak laugh at the comment, until he was halted by the pain coursing throughout his torso, "Okay guys, I really think I need to get my ass to a hospital now."

"No problem, I'll drive," Zeke said as Randy helped Artie remove his mask.

"Sure thing," the hired gun said weakly reaching into his pocket and the keys clattered to the floor, the bartender quickly scooping them up.

"Well it was nice meeting you Artie, but I've gotta be going now," Dal said offering a wave before motioning towards Zeke and Randy, "I'll see you two online again soon."

"Hell yeah man! We've still gotta show those bitches in Carcer who's boss!" Randy called back as he and Zeke helped their friend out of the club.

"Whatever, I hate to be a turd in your punch bowl right now, but I really need help," Artie said before passing out from blood loss.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends yet another installment where our beloved antihero triumphs against the odds! The fight sequence in this chapter is inspired by both the "Fight Club" side missions from "Saints Row 2," which I highly enjoyed and was pissed off over when they weren't included in "The Third," as well as the "Cage Fighter" from "The Ballad of Gay Tony." The club's name the Bear Cage is a reference to the 'Bear Fighter' achievement when you beat the fight club on T.B.o.G.T.

In other random notes, Silver's Gym is a parody of Gold's Gym; "Cyber Dude 2" is a spoof of "Iron Man 2," and Condoleeza-Cheney brand beer is a spoof of Anheuser-Busch brand beer (with obvious political references thrown in).

Clancy Mays was to an extent inspired by both Brucie and Mori Kibbutz from the GTA4 arc and his last name is a tribute to Billy Mays, as Clancy would have spoken in the loud booming tone that Billy Mays used.

Jezz Torrent's reality TV show "Fist of Love" is an obvious spoof of Bret Michaels' "Rock of Love."

eSwype is a parody of eBay.

Worldwide Technical Fighters (W.T.F.) is a spoof of Ultimate Fighting Championships and R.S.W.A. is the Rock Star Wrestling Alliance. Deliverance Dick would be my spoof of the hillbilly gimmick wrestlers like Haystacks Calhoun and Hillbilly Jim, whereas Iron Toe would have been a spoof of the martial arts-based wrestlers like Ricky "the Dragon" Steamboat.

Dallas Morrow's physical appearance would be inspired by Quinton "Rampage" Jackson.

For the random bits of Spanish I included, "Abejorro" means "bumblebee," (the colors of the mask were inspired by Bumblebee from the 'Transformer' movies) whereas "joto" (pronounced 'ho-to') is a Mexican Spanish slang term for gay man or "faggot."

Well alright, I think that's everything covered so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	20. Arms Breaker

Chapter 20: Arms Breaker

It had been nearly two weeks since Artie Cappelli emerged victorious in that brutal eight man pit fight at the Bear Cage, sustaining several wounds in the process.

Thankfully Zeke and Randy managed to get him over to Lincoln General just in time for him to have his injuries treated and he was almost fully healed by this point. Still in need of money, he had spent most of his time driving around for Freeman Cabs and had somehow been talked into performing a few deliveries for Aunt Gracie, much to his dismay, yet thankfully nothing that had nearly gotten him killed.

_"At least the old crone pays well for being the bipolar bitch that she is," _Artie thought to himself as he pulled to a stop outside The Little Black Book.

It had been another long day at the cab depot and all he wanted to do right now was kick back and relax. Getting out of his Sentinel he made his way inside to find the place sparsely populated as usual.

"Hey Artie, what's up?" Zeke called out from behind the counter, having been in the middle of a conversation with Dal.

"Hey brother, how are things?" Dal called out before finishing his latest slice of pizza.

The two of them had been in the middle of sharing a pepperoni and sausage pizza, while the loud retching noises coming from the men's room indicated Pukin' Pete was in attendance.

"Have a seat," Zeke said waving Artie towards the bar, grabbing a piece of pizza and putting it on a paper plate just for him.

"Just another day in paradise as Gino would say," the hired gun replied taking the stool next to Dal and accepting a Dud Lite, "So what's up with you two?"

"Eh, we were just talking about that new Raindance chopper Dal's brother brought the other day," Zeke said taking a swig of his own beer.

"A helicopter, are you serious?" Artie asked looking dumbfounded towards the pit fighter.

"Yeah, my brother owns the airstrip over in Arbor Prairie," Dal replied.

"I know I didn't get to tell you this, but Dal here is a trained pilot. I've been on a few tours around the entire city with him in the past," Zeke spoke, motioning to a picture he had taken of Dickeyland at night hanging on the wall behind him.

"My brother's got an entire collection and I know how to fly them all," the fighter proudly proclaimed.

"What about her? What do you think Randy?" Artie heard Gino's voice asking from behind him.

Looking over his shoulder, the door to Gino's office was wide open and inside he saw his cousin attempting to work a laptop while Randy stood behind him trying to explain the basic functions of navigating a website.

"Uh dude, that lady is young enough to be your daughter," Randy said peering closely at the screen, "Trust me Mr. C, I don't think 'barely legal' is the route you should be going."

"What the hell is he doing now?" Artie asked looking back towards Zeke in disgust.

"Randy's trying to show him around Love-Meet, I guess he figures finding a woman will help distract him from some of his recent troubles," Zeke replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, if he thinks Johnny Sneed and the Redcoats are already giving him enough trouble, then wait until he finds somebody and doesn't do something right in her eyes," Artie sighed, looking over to Dal who only shrugged his shoulders.

"Heh yeah, knowing him he'll be thinking he can take her to the fanciest places around town and next thing I know, bye bye paycheck," Zeke grunted.

"Yeah, I can just picture some pissed of psycho bitch storming this place when he isn't texting her every five seconds," Dal added.

"Knowing Gino, I wouldn't doubt that one bit," Artie said letting his forehead fall into his opened hand, "Christ, this should the absolute last thing he's thinking about right now."

"What about this lady right here?" Gino asked pointing excitedly towards the screen, "An attractive twenty-something brunette with a job, a car and a house!"

"Um yeah, she's also a gold digger who wants a rich man with little to no kin. I don't think you fall under that category," Randy replied.

"What about her?" Gino asked pointing to another unseen picture, "She likes older men!"

"Dude, she wants somebody old enough to be her grandfather so she can change his diapers in the morning. For some reason it really turns her on," Randy said, trying to suppress his urge to gag.

"And her?" Gino asked, pointing to another picture and darting his gaze back and forth between Randy and the screen at a manic pace.

"Recently released from the pen, she'd most likely shank you and steal your car," Randy said.

"Her?" Gino asked, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Judging by the location in which that picture was taken, I'm assuming she's probably some homeless crack addict who had to blow somebody just so she could use the camera to take that picture," Randy replied.

"Is there nobody in this city worth dating?" Gino whined, "Since when did honest businessmen like myself become public enemy number one around here?" the question drawing snickers from Artie, Zeke and Dal.

"Dude, you lied to your own cousin about owning some fancy nightclub, a penthouse apartment, a garage full of fancy sports cars, having all sorts of attractive women in your life and rolling around in piles of cold hard cash, if you can lie about that, then I don't think that exactly makes you 'honest.' Jesus Christ, how can I be certain you wouldn't pull that line of bullshit on some random woman off the internet?" Randy said crossing his arms.

"Hey kid, don't you fucking tell me how to live my life! I talk to people however I please!" Gino shot back.

"Uh yeah, let's see here…your display pic is one of your high school senior year pictures, which is over twenty years old I might add, you list yourself as being six feet five inches in height, twenty-seven years of age, owning a fancy nightclub, having a house out in Lakeview, owning your own yacht, owning an Infernus, a Cheetah and a Hotknife, having college degrees in marketing, small business management and psychology, being an avid marathon runner, wanting to have ten kids, and you state that your all-time favorite movie is 'The Journal' by Nicholai Marx," Randy said carefully nitpicking through all the little details in Gino's newly-established profile, "Yeah, you sound like the regular 'pillar of integrity' that I'd be looking to bring home to my parents if I were a chick. Trust me; as soon as any of these women meet you in person, you're done for!"

"Goddamn you! Artie should've left you to die back at that Cluckin' Bell shithole!" Gino screamed from the tiny confines.

Just as Artie finished his second slice of pizza, his phone began ringing and he reached for it to see Iceman was calling him.

"Hey what's up?" he asked after switching on the phone.

_"Dude, where are you?" _he asked from the other end.

"I'm over at Gino's, why?" Artie asked.

_"Get your ass over to my shop, pronto. I just got a call from Colt and he says the Yardies have a big weapons shipment coming in and he wants it for himself. He's promised a big payday for this mission and also says we'll have some dependable backup along this time around," _the weapons dealer reported.

"And just how the hell are they getting shipments into the city?" Artie asked, "I thought the feds had this entire city cordoned off from the outside world."

_"Well like the saying goes 'money talks and bullshit walks' my friend. I'd assume they must've paid off some pretty big names to get anything over here at a time like this," _Iceman chuckled bitterly.

"I should've figured that out already," Artie replied, remembering how Donnie was able to blackmail that police captain into setting him free.

_"Yeah, well just get your ass over here before 8:30, or else Colt's gonna come over here wanting to blow my head off for 'being a pussy.' Don't worry about hardware, I can provide that for us."_

"Alright, I'll be over in a little bit," Artie said before hanging up.

He noticed Zeke and Dal both looking over at him, "Sorry guys, but I'm gonna have to cut this short. Iceman needs help with an errand."

"Sure you guys don't need our help?" Dal asked.

"Nah, he just asked for me and that was it," Artie said shoving the phone into his pocket.

"Well that motherfucker," Dal said slamming his fist on the countertop, "Never lets us in on the fun. Well tell him we said hi anyway."

"Will do," Artie said making his way to the exit and looking down at his clothes. He was wearing a pair of black jeans with a green short-sleeved top, black and white sneakers and a blue denim jacket. Having just gotten off work and knowing things would likely get messy; he saw no reason for a change of clothes and proceeded to his car.

"Motherfucker!"

Some punk in an orange coat had a crowbar in hand and smashed the driver's side window open in an attempt to steal his car, setting off the alarm.

"Get your own wheels you fucking asshole!" Artie shouted running over and pulling the man away from his car, only to take an elbow to the jaw for his troubles.

"Finders keepers, losers weepers bitch!" the punk shouted drawing his arm back and going for another swing with his crowbar, missing as Artie moved out of the way and shattering his rear window.

"Goddamn you!" Artie shouted punching the man in the face, but the would-be carjacker continued to struggle with him before he was finally shoved to the ground.

Knowing he couldn't peacefully reason with the guy, the hired gun pulled out his Glock 22 and shot the man in the stomach, prompting a few bystanders who gathered across the street to scatter in all directions.

"Some people," Artie grunted sweeping away bits of shattered glass from his driver's seat and climbed inside. He switched on the radio and turned to Radio GX, which was playing "My Own Summer (Shove it)" by the Deftones.

The drive over to Iceman's shop in Stilsen didn't take too long and he pulled to a halt in front of North Pole Records, a small two story gray building with blue awning that had its tips shaped like icicles, similar to the designs on the gun runner's Patriot.

Inside the showroom was fairly spacious, lined with several rows of metal and hard rock CDs, as well as shelves filled with DVDs and other music-related merchandise, walls lined with t-shirts and posters advertising bands, and an entire section dedicated to musical instruments, including a red drum set on display in the shop's front window.

"Hey Artie," Sid waved from behind the cash register as a customer in a Vile Crud t-shirt stepped forth with an armful of CDs. In addition to the metal fan there were a few other customers present, including a blond-haired teenager who was testing out a brand new MTM Cobra.

"Hey is Iceman here by any chance?" Artie had to shout to the cashier.

"What?" Sid shouted back.

"Is Iceman here?" Artie shouted again, having to pull Sid closer to him.

"Yeah, he's in the office, go on in!" the cashier shouted.

"Thank you," Artie called out walking past the teenager, having to cover his ears until he reached the office.

He walked in to find Iceman grinding up marijuana leaves with a bong nearby.

"Whoa man, you really think you should be doing that before a mission?" the hired gun asked staring intently at the bong and the assortment of pipes lying nearby.

"Relax man, this is going to be my 'after party' for a job well done," the smuggler smirked rising to his feet, "Alright, I've got the stuff downstairs, follow me," he said motioning towards a door covered in miscellaneous signs.

Artie was led into the building's basement a wide open space that also served as Iceman's bedroom, living area, dining room, kitchen and billiards room all rolled into one, the bathroom and armory being the only separate rooms.

"Alright, I don't know if you're that well-educated when it comes to dealing with the Yardies or anything, but they're some crazy ass motherfuckers and believe me, they don't mess around," Iceman said leading Artie to a door fitted with an electronic keypad and typed in a numeric code before submitting his fingerprint and being rewarded with a pleasant sounding beep, "Alright, this is where I keep my mother load. Feast your eyes upon this!"

The hired gun was at a loss for words, it was a weapon lover's dream come true.

The room had been much larger than expected and was full of racks lined with numerous different types of shotguns ranging from Benelli to Remington to SPAS-12 to the Russian Saiga-12 variant, to various different kinds of assault rifles, sniper rifles, submachine guns and machine pistols. Littering the racks beneath the aforementioned weapons were hundreds of different variations of handguns, both regular caliber and the more powerful hand cannon types. Positioned carefully on the floor where any visitors would be able to safely walk around them were the heavier types of artillery such as heavy machineguns, grenade launchers, flame throwers and even a few RPG launchers.

Towards the back of the room were several workbenches littered with various types of explosives and melee weapons such as brass knuckles, machetes, swords and even a chainsaw covered in dried blood.

In addition, there was also a multitude of important items such as first-aid kids, jars of gunpowder, thermal and night vision goggles, a mine detector, a camera scrambler, and various types of scopes that could be fitted to practically any firearm present. Lining the walls were plenty of Kevlar vests and different variations of camouflage BDUs, like he was in some kind of store.

To put it bluntly, there had been enough guns and ammo in this single room for Iceman to have started up his own criminal empire had he wished.

"God fucking damn Iceman, I knew you had a lot of guns, but fuck man seriously! You must have more weapons than God himself!" Artie called out in astonishment.

"You're too kind my friend," the gun runner smiled before returning to a more serious tone, "Alright, like I said this is the Yardies we're dealing with here so you have to be fucking stocked to the max when dealing with those crazy motherfuckers, regardless if you have backup or not. You give them an inch; they'll be chopping off your dick with a machete before you can even blink."

"What else do you know about these guys? Any idea who they're doing business with or where they hang out?" Artie asked approaching a rack and taking down a Colt M4A1 carbine assault rifle, testing the sights and the grip in his hands. He then found an M-203 grenade launcher nearby and attached it beneath the barrel.

"Well, aside from the fact that they're all bat shit crazy, they're on friendly terms with the Redcoats and Hellcats," Iceman explained picking up an XM8 assault rifle and slapping a fresh clip into it before grabbing an M-203 grenade launcher of his own, "They've also got connections to the Caribbean gangs up in Liberty City and are still thought to be on friendly terms with the Colombian Cartel."

"Yeah, I had a few run-ins with those fucks up in Liberty too," Artie replied grabbing a USAS-12 assault shotgun and scooped up a few explosive rounds for it.

"The big thing is smuggling," Icemand added as he picked up a Dao-12 Street Sweeper shotgun and loaded a fresh magazine, "They started out small, smuggling jewels, but then they forged an alliance with the Redcoats and Hellcats and graduated to smuggling guns, drugs and even people. They're rumored to have a drug farm somewhere in Roosevelt Hills. I don't know for sure and quite frankly, nobody else does either."

"Any idea who their leader is?" Artie inquired as he found a CZ 75 fully automatic and picked up a few clips for it.

"Some schmuck named King Charlie," Iceman said grabbing a cloth and shining his trusty Colt Anaconda, "A fucking nutcase who just kills anybody at random, hell there's even a rumor that he once shot a waiter between the eyes because his steak was undercooked. As for the cook himself, supposedly he was strung up on a meat hook, gutted with a machete and then tossed into a vat with a very hungry shark in it."

"Man, he sounds like quite the sick fucker if there ever was one," Artie replied as he slipped on a Kevlar vest and then grabbed a bandolier of M67 fragmentation grenades. "Any idea where he lives or frequents?"

"The Yardies dominate Little Jamaica, not too far from Harbor," Iceman said as he pulled on a Kevlar vest of his own and then hefted up an HK69A1 grenade launcher, slipping on a bandolier of 40mm cartridges. "They have quite a few shops as their fronts and nobody knows where his exact hideout is. Quite frankly, people are probably too scared to ask."

"Can't say that I blame them, he sounds fucking crazy," Artie replied taking a large combat knife and placing a holster around his shin for it. "I'm surprised anybody can follow a maniac like him," he said sliding the knife into place. _"Then again, I'm one to talk. I've been following some crazy fuckers around here too."_

"People are fucked up," Iceman said picking up a machete, "especially his followers. He gets them so doped up they're not afraid of anything. If he told them to charge head on at a platoon of N.O.O.S.E. agents armed with nothing but some pointy sticks you can bet damn sure they'd do it without hesitation."

Iceman's cell phone rang and he picked it up, "Hey Colt, we're on our way!" he spoke, listening to some harsh ranting from the other side before replying, "Yes I'm bringing the guido along too and you have my word he won't fuck up."

Artie glared at his friend upon hearing him utter the derogatory term directed at Italian-Americans and listened to him continue his chat.

"Yes, we'll be over in a few minutes, don't get your ass in a fucking uproar!" Iceman replied before switching his phone off, "Alright, we'd better get going. Colt and his boys are starting to get restless."

The two heavily-armed men made their way back upstairs and into the alley where Iceman's Patriot awaited them.

"What the hell was that down there? That 'Yes I'm bringing the guido along' crap?" Artie demanded as they pulled out into traffic.

"To be completely honest with you, the guys we're going to be working with aren't too fond of Italians," the gun runner replied, "They're not exactly on the best of terms with the Mafia around here, so basically they're distrusting of all Italians in general."

"Bastards," the hired gun spat as Iceman switched the radio over to Rock of Rushmore 89.5, which was playing "Overkill" by Motorhead.

"I don't think I'd say that right to their faces. They won't hesitate to chain you up to the back of their motorcycles and drag you along a gravel road," Iceman said as they pulled up to Colt's Ammu-Nation, where a variety of motorcycles were parked out front.

"Just act natural and let me do all the talking," Iceman said as they made their way inside, "Try to restrain yourself if they knock Italians in front of you."

"Easier said than done," Artie replied as Iceman approached the register, which was manned by a blonde-haired woman in an olive drab tanktop. There were still the pops of various firearms coming from the shooting range, suggesting the shop was still fairly populated for this time of night.

"Colt said you guys would be coming. He's in the back," the woman said motioning towards the door labeled _'No Admittance. Trespassers Will Be Shot. Survivors Will Be Shot Again.'_

Opening the aforementioned door, the two men were blown backwards by the sonic shockwave of heavy metal, this time being "Slaughter of the Soul" by At the Gates.

Inside they found an entire group of grungy, heavily-tattooed men dressed like stereotypical bikers getting drunk and tossing their empty beer bottles all over the place. Near the keg at the center of the room Colt was seen conversing with a tall baldheaded man with a nasty scar running down the right side of his face and an X-shaped scar on his left cheek. He was wearing a black leather jacket that had a large design on the back of a winged demon carrying a curved sword, completed by text identifying him as a member of the Luciferian Brotherhood. A patch on the front of his jacket listed his rank as that of 'President.'

"There he is," Colt called out making his way over to Iceman, "This is the guy I told you about," the proprietor said motioning towards the smuggler, "and his friend," he spoke snidely towards Artie.

"Pleased to meet you," the biker boomed, "They call me Hack," he said shaking hands with both Iceman and Artie.

"They call me Iceman," the gun runner said, "and this is my friend Artie Cappelli."

"A guinea, huh?" spoke a redheaded man with a braided goatee. "Last time we did business with your kind, three of our brothers got jacked from behind and another was left a cripple for the rest of life."

Another member, this one with shoulder-length sandy blond hair then stepped up and pushed his hair aside to show a jagged scar along his neck, "You see that scar right there? One of your greaseball brothers did that trying to jack my bike!"

The other bikers began to gather around, all of them glaring daggers upon Artie and looking like they were ready to pound him into dust until Iceman intervened.

"Hey, hey easy there people! He's here to help!" Iceman said stepping in front of the hitman with his hands raised, "Sure, he's a Dago and everything, but he can get the job done. Trust me boys, I've seen him in action!"

"We've seen a lot of his kind in action," spoke a Hispanic man with his head shaved, "They're usually pointing a gun in our direction!"

"He's here to help," Iceman repeated, "If for some reason he stabs us in the back, then you can have my head on a pike for all I care!"

"Okay boys, I think we're gonna have to put the arguments over the lightweight aside and get down to business," Colt called out making his way over towards a map of Lincoln Island and pointing towards the Harbor area.

"We've received a report that those Yardie bastards are about to receive a major weapons shipment down at the Harbor district and judging by what we've heard, it should be arriving in about an hour," Colt explained.

"I wonder whose cock they had to suck to get anything into this city the way the Gestapo is coming down on anything that flies or floats right now," the blond-haired biker spat, arousing a few chuckles from his comrades.

Colt ignored the man's comment and continued, "Obviously the Yardies know who you guys are and if they saw you coming at them on your hogs, they'd know what was up and likely mop the floor with you guys-," he continued, inviting a few disbelieving stares and scoffs from the macho bikers.

"You really doubt us that much Colt?" asked a bulky man with an Amish-like beard, "Christ, we've survived God knows how many battles with the commies, chinks and guineas around here," he said, looking towards Artie as he uttered the last slur.

"-which is why you're all going to pile into one large truck to get the drop on them," Artie finished, inviting a few groans from the bikers.

"Man, looks like that new paint job was all for nothing," groaned a shorter man with his bald head covered in tattoos.

"Christ, you might as well cut our dicks off while you're at it since you're on such a fucking power trip right now," called out another biker, this one wearing a bandana over his head with a skull that was belching flames.

Colt ignored their complaints and continued forth, "I have no idea how many trucks they're gonna have down there, but I do know one of their fronts is the Well Hung meat packing plant. Look for any trucks that have that logo on them and make sure that none of them explodes," he finished.

"Well you heard the man, let's move out!" Hack ordered and his subordinates began hooting and hollering wildly with chants of "Luciferians 'Til Death!"

Colt then approached Artie and tossed him a set of keys, "Time to earn your keep, wop!"

Artie growled angrily and furrowed his brow towards the gunsmith, stopping when Iceman placed a hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, let's get moving!" the smuggler said leading him outside.

The Luciferian bikers, twenty of them altogether, piled into the back of a Steed box truck advertising 'The Daily Blowhard,' hooting and hollering like native savages about to rush into battle.

"You sure it's a good idea letting a Guido drive?" one of the bikers called out, again forcing Iceman to hold Artie back and make sure he didn't do something stupid.

"Just ignore his stupid ass and get in the truck," Iceman said closing the truck's back doors and then climbing into the front passenger seat.

"The nerve of these goons," Artie spat as he climbed into the driver's seat and started up the truck.

"That's the Luciferians for you. You're shit to them until you earn their respect," Iceman said switching on 94.3 CSKD, which was currently playing "Henchmen Ride" by Testament, a good 'rushing into battle' song.

"Well they'd better learn to buck up soon, or else I will have to start shooting," Artie grunted, until he heard a sound he had hoped he wouldn't.

"Oh fuck!" the hired gun grunted as he saw a police cruiser charging towards him from behind.

Iceman saw the car too and readied his pistol, "Just keep calm and be ready to fight if you have to," he said as Artie pulled the truck to the side of the road.

Fortunately, the cops didn't appear interested in them and sped past with no signs of slowing down.

"Fuck that was close," Artie said pulling the truck back into traffic.

With that temporary distraction out of the way, the hired gun was able to drive over to the Harbor district with a clear mind.

He didn't have much farther to go and from a distance he could see a large freighter having just docked. Parked around he saw several Huntley Sport SUVs with green, yellow and black paint schemes, as well as a few of those customized Lobos he had seen outside the leather goods store on the night he and Donnie had been involved in the shootout at Hell's Belles.

Surprisingly, he also spotted several red and white Clovers and Burritos driven by the Redcoats and those tan Dukes with the flame decals driven by the Hellcats, along with a few Slamvans that had a similar color scheme.

"Shit, the Redcoats and the Hellcats are here too!" Artie announced.

"No turning back," Iceman said cocking his assault rifle, "Besides, more to kill anyway."

Artie pulled the Steed to a halt near the Bitch n' Dog Food factory adjoining the Well Hung building and killed the engine. Having sensed the vehicle stopping, the cargo doors came flying open and one by one the Luciferians piled out of the truck.

"Where the fuck are those Yardie bastards?" one of the bikers called out, waving his Colt M4 Carbine back and forth like he was expecting somebody to pop out of the shadows.

"They're here and they're not alone," Iceman announced, "We're parking here so your crazy asses don't get shot down right away."

"Let's move!" Hack ordered pulling the bolt back on his M4 and creeping along the factory exterior.

Moving in formation with the group, Artie was able to make out four Boxville trucks bearing the Well Hung logo on their sides, as well as a combat vehicle bearing a camouflage paintjob with a mounted mini-gun on top, which he recognized as one of those Scorpion urban combat vehicles advertised in that contest at Ammu-Nation.

They kept moving until they were a few feet away from the gathered gangsters and had taken cover behind various objects.

"Hey, you think we're close enough?" Hack suddenly asked Iceman.

"I'd say we are," the smuggler replied.

"Good," the Luciferian president replied before stepping out and opening fire, "Take 'em down brothers!"

On cue the other bikers began firing upon their adversaries, quickly cutting down a few rival gang members that had been close by.

"L.B.M.C. bitches!" the Hispanic member shouted opening fire with his Ruger AC556F.

"Get does bumbleclods!" a Jamaican-accented voice shouted and altogether Yardies, Redcoats and Hellcats returned fire in unison, dropping one of the Luciferians with six shots to the chest.

Artie and one of the Luciferians had taken cover behind a large metal crate, where they were being fired upon from above by both a Yardie and a Redcoat.

"Hope you're a better shot than what Iceman makes you out to be Guido," the biker grunted as he ejected an empty clip from his carbine and stood up to fire, only to be dropped by a round to the forehead, splattering his brains all over the asphalt.

"Son of a bitch," Artie muttered taking cover behind the crate and then popping up to unleash a volley upon his attackers, hitting the Redcoat in the chest and sending him tumbling over the railing and landing on the edge of a dumpster with a sickly crack.

The Yardie meanwhile had run out of ammo for his current clip and tried to run for an area with more cover, but Artie was onto him and fired a flurry of hot lead that followed the Caribbean gangster along the brick wall until one of the rounds tore through the man's shoulder and sent him falling head first into a steel pillar, surely breaking his neck.

Bullets flew back and forth at a manic pace and several rival gang members had already fallen, but there had proven to be more than expected and within seconds, two more Luciferians fell from automatic fire.

"You fuckers will pay for that!" Hack screamed firing wildly at his enemies, taking down a Yardie that had attempted to take cover behind one of the Hellcats' Dukes. He continued firing away until smoke began shooting out from beneath the bullet-riddled hood and was then followed by flames, which would swallow the entire car until it exploded into a reddish-orange fireball that incinerated a Hellcat who hadn't been fast enough and sent shrapnel flying that injured several more.

"Take that you inbred fuckers!" he laughed maniacally firing a barrage that dropped both a Redcoat and a Hellcat, the latter firing his AK-47 into the air before hitting the pavement.

Artie saw the Dukes explode and then noticed how a few rival gangsters had taken cover behind a Slamvan belonging to the Hellcats. Pumping his grenade launcher, he fired a 40mm grenade towards the tan-colored vehicle. As soon as it connected, it exploded into a ball of white hot fury, killing those who thought it could provide some form of safety.

The revving of an engine sounded and the hired gun looked to see one of the Yardies managed to get behind the wheel of a Huntley Sport in all the madness and was now charging towards him and his companions.

"Incoming!" one of the Luciferians called out and the bikers began firing away at the bulky vehicle, riddling its exterior with hundreds of rounds and shattering the front windshield. The driver was killed by a round to the face, but the SUV continued its forward charge and plowed head on into a stack of wooden crates some of them had been hiding behind and exploded, killing one of the bikers.

"Ya' gonna be sorry white trash!" one of the Yardies shouted hefting an RPG-7 launcher onto his shoulder.

"Shit!" Artie blurted out and began firing wildly towards the Jamaican gangster until he struck the man in the throat, causing his rocket to fly backwards into the freighter. A series of massive explosions soon followed and within seconds the ship had splintered into fragments of twisted metal.

_"Fuck, no doubt the pigs will be converging upon this place like the plague soon enough," _the errand boy thought to himself as he took careful aim to drop another Hellcat with a single round to the head.

Pumping his grenade launcher a second time, he fired a round at one of the Lobos, the vehicle's charred husk launching into the air and landing on one of the Redcoats' Clovers.

By now Iceman and the Luciferians were slowly pushing their way towards the waiting Boxvilles, systematically cutting down the rival gang members standing in their way.

"Eat this and die!" one of the Redcoats called out as he leapt into the open and tossed a Molotov cocktail at two of the bikers, swallowing up both men in a wall of fire neither would survive.

The madman saw another Luciferian coming at him with a Remington Spartan 100 sawn-off shotgun and reached for his sidearm, only to have his right arm blown off beneath the elbow.

"Fuck yeah!" the biker laughed until another Redcoat and a Hellcat charged at him jointly.

Firing away, the biker had managed to drop the Hellcat with a blast to the stomach, but was hit in the arm by a round from the Redcoat's Beretta M9.

Artie saw the man's predicament and quickly dropped his assailant with a salvo of hot lead to the chest and stomach before his clip ran dry. With the bad guys taken care of he ran over to assist the wounded biker.

"Ugh…don't worry about me bro, just get those trucks out of here," the man winced as he was taken under the arm.

"Don't worry, we're gonna get you out of here!" Artie shouted back over the repeated pops of automatic fire before managing to get the man safely hidden behind one of the buildings. "Just stick tight and we'll be back for you!"

With no time to reload his rifle, the hired gun reached for his USAS-12 assault shotgun and fired an explosive round that tore through the groin of a Yardie, ensuring the man would die a slow, painful death. Firing another round, he walloped the side of a Clover one of the Hellcats had taken cover behind and kept firing until the muscle car was in flames.

"No escape!" Artie shouted as he finally took the man out with an explosive round to the back.

He continued firing until he bumped into somebody and suddenly jumped, whirling around with his gun raised.

"Whoa, take it easy Artie, it's just me!" Iceman called out.

"Shit sorry about that," the hired gun replied before firing off more explosive rounds.

"Save it for later!" the gun runner shouted back as he launched the final grenade from his rifle-mounted launcher, sending it near some red flammable barrels and creating another explosion that sent one of the SUVs flipping onto its side and crushing two more Yardies.

"We're getting closer," Iceman shouted withdrawing the Street Sweeper and tearing through another one of the Huntleys with its high-powered rounds, taking out a cowardly Redcoat that was attempting to flee the scene.

Artie continued firing away until he was hit in the chest by a barrage of rounds from a Hellcat's Glock 22, forcing him to take cover behind a bullet-riddled Slamvan that had another shot up Hellcat hanging from the passenger's seat. Quickly withdrawing the M4A1, he slapped in a fresh clip and popped out to fire a three shot burst, obliterating his attacker's face.

Two more Hellcats appeared to take their fallen comrade's place, firing upon him with their own M4 Carbines.

Taking cover behind another large metal crate, the hired gun unclipped a fragmentation grenade and blindly tossed it behind him. A collective "Oh shit" told him he would temporarily have the gangbangers off his tail. Peeking his head out, he watched as one of them rushed straight into the crosshairs of another waiting Luciferian, just before the man was sent airborne by another explosion.

"Ha ha, gotcha' now me brudda!" a voice called out from above and turned to see a Yardie charging at him with a trademark machete in hand.

Acting on instinct, the Italian-American ducked a swipe from his attacker, causing the blade to clang off the crate's metallic surface and temporarily stun the man. With his foe left wide open, he drove the rifle's stock into the man's side and then kicked him backwards and shooting him point blank in the face before he could hit the ground, spraying some of the Yardie's blood, bone fragments and sinew onto him.

_"Good thing I didn't wear some newer clothes after all," _he thought looking over to Iceman, who was in the process of beheading another Yardie that had gotten too close for comfort.

Ahead of him, a Luciferian was shot in the chest repeatedly, causing him to fall backward and strike his head against the brick wall of a nearby warehouse, a crimson steak following him all the way down as he collapsed to the pavement. Yet another would fall after taking a shotgun blast to the chest, sending him falling backwards onto the hood of a Hellcat Dukes. Both of their murderers would fall after taking a barrage from Hack's carbine.

"Come on you fucking pieces of shit! There's more where that came from!" the Brotherhood's president yelled like a man possessed, only allowing a blink as a 9mm round grazed his side.

Growling in reply, Hack fired a 40mm round from his mounted grenade launcher and caught the man who shot him square in the chest, never giving his attacker a chance to scream as he was reduced to a pile of ragged strips and bloodied meat.

"Alright, c'mon we're at the trucks," Iceman called out taking cover behind the Scorpion and gunning down the Yardies and Redcoats standing guard.

"You heard the man, let's get the fuck outta here!" Hack shouted as he tried rushing for one of the Boxvilles, but was forced to take cover as a Molotov cocktail was tossed in his direction, igniting the corpse of an already dead Redcoat. One of the remaining Luciferians was on hand to drop the mad bomber.

"Hack, c'mon!" Iceman called out to the club president as he climbed into the Scorpion's driver's seat and started it up.

The Brotherhood's leader was about to make his move when he suddenly found himself bathed in a bright light. Looking up, he found a familiar blue and white helicopter fluttering overhead and instantly his heart sank.

_"R.C.P.D., drop your weapons and surrender at once!"_

Artie felt his blood chill as the blue and white helicopter came into view and he could hear the sirens in the distance.

"Fuck," was all he could mutter before one of the Luciferians appeared alongside of him.

"C'mon, we've gotta get go-" was all the man could get out before an officer opened fire upon them, cutting the man down in a high velocity barrage.

Artie bolted towards the Boxvilles, only to be cut off by a camouflaged vehicle speeding in front of him.

"Quick Artie, get inside now!" Iceman shouted from the driver's seat. Hack was with him in the passenger seat scrambling to reload his M4 carbine.

Doing as he was told, the hired gun climbed into the backseat and looked out the window to see the remaining Brotherhood members scrambling for the now unguarded Boxvilles.

"Alright, let's move!" Hack shouted.

"Wait, we've got one of your guys left behind one of the warehouses," Artie called out pointing to the building he had hidden the one biker behind, "He's wounded and he needs help!"

"I'm on it," Iceman said hitting the gas and speeding towards the building, running over a few of the surviving Redcoats and Hellcats who had been firing away at them.

Eventually the vehicle would reach the building where the wounded Luciferian had been hidden.

"Quick, get in!" Artie shouted throwing the door open.

The wounded biker staggered towards the Scorpion and threw himself into the backseat, having to be pulled in by Artie. Looking out the back window he saw the four Boxville vans pulling up behind them. "Alright you can fucking move now!" he screamed gripping his rifle for dear life.

Iceman pounded the gas pedal to the floor as N.O.O.S.E. Enforcers and Patriots came speeding into view, narrowly missing them as they charged head on. Fortunately, they also seemed to focus on the few rival gang members left who were attempting to flee the scene, chasing after some Redcoat Clovers that had taken off towards the east and a Yardie-owned Huntley Sport charging for the west.

"Shit, they're going after the vans too," Hack shouted as he watched a Patriot slam into the side of a Boxville, its driver barely regaining control as he attempted to flee.

"I'll hold them off!" Artie shouted and opened the hatch that would take him to the mounted mini-gun.

Climbing into the turret, he took aim upon a police cruiser that had been harassing another Boxville, watching as its passenger struggled to return fire with the pursuing officers.

Depressing the trigger, Artie listened in anticipation as the gun whirred to life before a barrage of high-powered rounds tore apart the squad car, killing both the driver and passenger, thus enabling the Boxville to pass without incident.

The vehicle suddenly rocked beneath him and he looked down to see a Patriot had bypassed the other vehicles to ram them.

_"Pull over or we will open fire!" _the officer shouted over his microphone.

"I think not pig!" Artie shouted back and fired down into the vehicle's engine until flames erupted from beneath the hood, forcing both officers to bail.

"Assholes," he grumbled to himself as one of the officers landed smack dab in the middle of the road, only to be run over by the closest Boxville.

As quickly as the Patriot had been destroyed, there was already another squad car on hand to attack the fleeing Boxville.

Depressing the trigger again, the mini-gun's rounds tore through the cruiser's windshield like a piece of paper and shredded the driver to pieces. It didn't end there as Artie tore through the car until it ignited.

"Ha ha motherfuckers!" he shouted, until he was blinded by the spotlight of a pursuing Maverick.

_"Cease and desist immediately!" _the officer's voice boomed over the horizon.

Artie suddenly remembered the advertisement in Colt's shop that this vehicle came equipped with a rocket launcher.

_"Somebody will cease alright," _he thought as he began operating the rocket launcher's console and took aim, using the copter's heat signature to lock on.

"Say goodbye!" he shouted and pushed the trigger, sending a missile flying towards the chopper, giving its pilot and crew no time to dodge.

The projectile connected with a deafening explosion and the brilliant flash forced Artie to temporarily shield his eyes.

"Hell yeah, now that's what I'm talking about!" Iceman laughed excitedly.

"Oh shit, look out!" the wounded biker suddenly shouted.

Up ahead the N.O.O.S.E. forces had formed a barricade spanning the entire width of the small bridge they were about to cross.

"Artie, you know what to do!" Iceman shouted, continuing at his current speed.

"Roger that!" the hired gun shouted back spinning the turret around and opening fire upon the waiting Patriots, gunning down most of the officers surrounding them. He kept the trigger down until one of the bulky SUVs exploded, creating a chain reaction that would swallow up the others positioned next to it. Those who hadn't been killed by the bullets surely would have been slaughtered by the following explosions.

"Hell fucking yeah!" Hack whooped excitedly, "Perhaps this kid isn't so bad after all," he said to Iceman.

Seeing the wall of fire they were fast approaching, Artie quickly climbed back down into the bullet and fireproof Scorpion, wincing as Iceman plowed through the flames. Looking out the back window he watched as the four Boxvilles followed suit, their exteriors blackened slightly by the flames, a miracle they didn't get through to the cargo they carried inside, which would have produced disastrous results.

"Alright, let's take this shit home!" Iceman said flooring the gas pedal, speeding past a few police cruisers that certainly wouldn't be able to catch up to them and plowing through Habanero caught in the crossfire.

The convoy of vehicles proceeded back to the Stilsen district while being pursued by the cops until it reached a narrow street and one of the surviving Luciferians came up with an idea.

"Hey Bucky, why don't you let some of those pigs have it! I'm sure Colt won't mind us losing one of the boxes," called out the driver of the last Boxville, the scarred blond-haired man who had accosted Artie earlier on.

"You got it," replied Bucky, the redheaded man with the braided goatee.

Seeing a box labeled as containing explosives, the Brotherhood biker kicked open one of the back doors and pulled the pin on a grenade, shoving the box full of explosives at a pursuing police cruiser, connecting with a massive boom that obliterated the car into nothing and creating a fiery roadblock on the narrow passage.

"Ha ha ha, fuckin' yeah! Luciferians baby!" Bucky hollered before pulling the door shut behind him.

"Alright, we're almost to home plate," Iceman called out, ramming head on into a Hakumai sedan as he ran a red light, Hack raising his middle finger to the driver as they sped past.

Within seconds the convoy was approaching the familiar building with the American flag paint scheme and large model revolver over its front door. At last they had arrived and took a left turn into the side alley.

"Man, what a rush!" Iceman gasped climbing out of the Scorpion's driver seat, "Not every day you get that much action."

He then saw Hack coming and motioned towards Artie, "See, I told you this crazy motherfucker could get the job done!"

The Luciferian president again looked Artie up and down before breaking into a hearty laugh, "For once I stand corrected, maybe you might actually have some use after all!"

"Yeah, you actually weren't half bad back there," Bucky said stepping into view, "for being a Guido and everything."

"Seriously, could you please stop with all the Italian insults for once?" Artie asked the redheaded man, the patch on his jacket identifying him as a Sergeant-at-Arms. "Christ, if I wasn't there to help you out, none of you probably would've come back alive."

"He's right, I trust him," said the biker who had been wounded in the gunfight, identified by his patch as 'Smitty.' The bandana once covering his head was now being used as a crude bandage wrapped around his arm.

"Ooh, got yourself a new boyfriend already, huh Smitty?" the Hispanic biker laughed, his patch identifying him as 'Rojo.'

Out of the twenty Luciferians who had initially set out on the mission, only nine had come back alive, all of them bathed in the blood of friend and foe alike.

"Pretty strong statement you're making there pal," the scarred blond-haired man spoke, his patch revealing him as 'Turk.'

"Hey easy there," Hack said stepping in between the two men, "He hasn't tried any funny shit just yet," he said before returning his attention to Artie, "As far as I'm concerned, he's innocent until proven guilty," his tone lowering and his gaze becoming threatening.

The shop's back door opened and Colt emerged with two packs of beer in hand, "About time you crazy bastards got your asses back here!" he called out and then looked around to see there were only nine bikers present.

"What happened to the rest of you," he asked, only to be cut off by Hack.

"They didn't make it," the leader mournfully reported as he approached his friend and pulled a bottle out of the container before turning to address his followers.

"Brothers, once again we have triumphed, but it is a bittersweet victory," the President announced as his surviving followers stood around him, "We wasted a lot of rancid motherfuckers, but in the process lost eleven of our own.

"Eleven brothers lost in the heat of battle, good men who rode hard, partied hard, lived hard and were scared of absolutely jack shit!" Hack proclaimed, popping the cap off his bottle, "The code of the Luciferian Brotherhood dictates that we do not sit back idly and take such transgressions without retaliation. As long as there are Redcoats, Hellcats, Yardies and anybody else who spills the blood of a brother, we will track them and anybody associated with them down and unleash the mightiest, bloodiest vengeance until they are no more!"

"Hell yeah!" the bikers cried in unison.

"Now, for our lost brothers! May they forever ride freely on the highways of the afterlife and fucking run down anybody who dares stand in their way!" Hack roared as he tilted his head back and poured the cold liquid down his throat, everybody else, including Artie, Iceman and Colt, following suit until their bottles were emptied and smashed on the ground.

Artie watched as the Luciferians quickly got to work unloading the boxes from the backs of the trucks, when he was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder.

"Alright kid, for once you do something right," Colt said presenting him with a briefcase, "Twenty-thousand dollars for a job well done!"

The hired gun gasped at the dollar amount, not expecting the gunsmith to be carrying around that kind of money, let alone to pay him, Iceman and the surviving bikers.

"Okay, you've done your keep now you two rung along!" Colt said pressing the two forth, "I'll be calling you next time I need your help!" he said to Iceman before the two of them disappeared from sight.

"Hey man, thanks for coming along. You really showed those bastards back there," Iceman said tapping fists with Artie.

"Eh, I do what I can. Maybe now those Luciferians will show some goddamned respect, maybe Colt too next time I go to his store," the Italian-American said before stopping himself, "Oh yeah that's right, why should I bother with him when I've got you around to sell me guns out of your trunk," he laughed as they approached Iceman's Patriot.

"Can't go wrong with that logic there," Iceman chuckled as they climbed inside.

"I must be your only client then with all the merchandise you've got down in your personal armory. Jesus Fucking Christ, I'm surprised Colt can be as ballsy as he is when he doesn't have jack shit on your stash," Artie laughed as his phone started ringing.

It was Zeke and he switched on the phone, "Hey man, what's up?"

_"Dude, believe it or not, Gino's got a hot date for tomorrow and he's given me the day off so he can have the bar all to himself when she comes over."_

Artie's jaw dropped at the mention, "You're fucking kidding me! Gino of all people has a date? Are you sure he's not lying to you?"

_"Dude, he gave me a fucking day off, why should I be one to ask questions?" _Zeke half-shouted from the other end, _"Since I've got the day off I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow?"_

"Hmm, I don't think I've got anything planned, why not?" Artie replied.

_"Good, I was figuring we could check out the Gazangas over in Blue Hook, you know have some wings, have some beers, check out the ladies in their tight little red shorts, you know the drill," _Zeke giggled at the last part.

"Sounds like fun man, I've never been to a Gazangas, but I've heard their wings are the best."

_"Dude, are you fucking gay or something? For one, you've never been to a Gazangas and two, all you can think about is their wings? What the fuck man? Since when did you go all Queens District on me?" _Zeke shouted from the other end.

"Okay, you're starting to sound like Donnie now. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing," Artie said looking over to Iceman.

_"Whatever man, guess it's settled then. I'll pick you up tomorrow around noonish."_

"Sounds like a plan. Talk to you later," Artie said switching off the phone.

"Ooh, Romeo's got himself a 'man date' and attempt to convince the world they're not a couple of queens by going to Gazangas, when you're probably really heading for Golden Boys," Iceman laughed.

"Fuck you!" Artie retorted.

"Maybe I should turn on Total 101.9, hell I'll call up and request Owl City's 'Fireflies' just for your flaming ass!" Iceman laughed.

"Fuck you!" Artie repeated, "In a non-sexual way that is!"

"Sure thing Liberace," Iceman said pulling to a stop next to his friend's Sentinel, "I'll talk to you later man, keep in touch!"

"Yeah, see you later," the hired gun waved as he climbed into his car and started for home.

_"I'm gonna have to get these windows fixed sometime later."_

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends yet another very action packed installment of "Rushmore City!"

This was another action sequence inspired by this one time I played "Saints Row 2," during a takeover mission in which I had to take over the harbor where the Sons of Samedi were stuffing fish with their 'Loa Dust' and then I had to blow up the freighter that was docked there, well the last time I played through this mission I ended up creating this huge shootout which involved members of the Sons of Samedi, a bunch of pimps and the Stilwater Police Department all going at it, leaving me to largely go about my mission unscathed, blasting only those who crossed my path. It was pretty fun and I wanted to try conveying that sense of action into this chapter.

You know how in the chapter where he makes his very first appearance, I explain that I could see Gino being physically inspired by that Doc McGhee guy who managed K.I.S.S. and Motley Crue? Strike that out, there has been a little change in that regard.

The more and more I thought about it, especially with the way Gino goes off on Randy in this chapter, I could seriously picture Gino being physically inspired by Steven Chapman, the psychopathic grocery store manager from "Dead Rising."

When I thought more and more about his hairstyle and his physical build, it instantly made me think of Steven from "Dead Rising," at least a shorter version of the guy. Now all Gino needs is a shopping cart with a whole shitload of sharp objects strapped to it and he's ready to go! Then after that, he can scream "Clean up! Register 6!" before he dies.

"The Journal" by Nicholai Marx listed in Gino's Love-Meet profile is a spoof of "The Notebook" by Nicholas Sparks.

The Cobra guitar by MTM (Metallic Tune Makers) being played by that teenager in Iceman's record store is supposed to be a spoof of the Viper by ESP (Electric Sound Products), a popular brand of guitar in metal music.

The Scorpion I would say is a somewhat original creation of mine. Inspiration-wise, I would say it is heavily inspired by the special militaristic Bulldog design from "Saints Row 2" with the camouflage paintjob that is outfitted with a machinegun turret, which you unlock after the final mission against the Sons of Samedi when you defeat The General. I would also say it is somewhat based around the Warthog design from "Twisted Metal 2," with the reference to the built-in rocket launcher.

For those of you who may not remember, the Queens district Zeke makes reference to is the predominantly gay district in San Fierro from "GTA: San Andreas."

Well I think that's everything for the time being and for now all you have to look forward to is a nice little 'man date' between Artie and Zeke. How will it turn out? Well you're just gonna have to tune in for the next installment!

As always, read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	21. Aces High

Chapter 21: Aces High

It was almost high noon and Artie was sitting on the living room futon flipping through channels, killing some time as he waited for Zeke.

He had just finished his morning ritual of getting cleaned up and was now wearing some new clothes he recently purchased from the Modo over in Horgate, consisting of a light green, brown and white striped polo shirt and some navy blue cargo shorts.

Nothing aside from soap operas were on for this time of day and he was mentally calling out for Zeke to show up when he suddenly happened across the RCNN-13 late morning news, featuring the aftermath of last night's carnage.

The current image displayed Cora Ricardo live at the harbor, standing before the charred remnants of several rival gang cars while emergency personnel shuttled body bags back and forth.

_"It was late last night down here at Lincoln Harbor when yet another bloody gang battle occurred._

_ "At this point it is unknown exactly as to what caused the skirmish, but judging by the bodies found it is known that the participants included members of the Redcoats, Hellcats and Uptown Yardie street gangs, as well as member of the Luciferian Brotherhood Motorcycle Club. Bodies are still being uncovered with every passing minute and thus far the death toll is confirmed to be at forty-six._

_ "Only four arrests have been made directly related to the incident, all members of the Redcoats and all of them refusing to talk._

_ "According to further eyewitness reports, a convoy consisting of some weird military-looking vehicle and four trucks from the Well Hung meat packing plant were seen fleeing from the scene of the battle. Police and N.O.O.S.E. operatives attempted to subdue the vehicles, but yet another violent struggle followed and twenty-one officers were left dead or wounded._

_ "When contacted, both representatives from the U.S. Military and Well Hung Co. denied any involvement in the ordeal._

_ "Reporting live from Lincoln Harbor, this is Cora Ricardo. Back to you Tom and Adele."_

The scene then switched over to the RCNN-13 newsroom where the two anchors were seated behind their desks and the female reporter, identified as 'Adele Markowitz' began speaking:

_"In other news, the Rushmore Ripper has struck again, now officially 'Rushmore' after having left a body outside of the industrial shithole of Lincoln Island. This time around, a woman's limbless torso was found on the steps of the Rushmore City Courthouse in Washington Common. Is this the work of a serial killer continuing a brutal reign of terror? Or is it some sick liberal prank gone way too far-"_

Artie's phone began ringing and he switched the TV off upon seeing that it was Zeke calling.

"About time your lazy ass showed up!" he spoke.

_"Heh, whatever pal. Why don't you stop flapping your gums and get your lazy ass out here?" _Zeke spoke from the other end, the roar of a muscle car's engine soon calling out to him.

"Alright, I'm coming," he said switching his phone off.

Making his way out the back door, Artie looked down to see a solid blue Sabre GT with a cracked skull decal on the driver's side door waiting for him. The engine roared again and Zeke stuck his hand out the window waving towards him.

_"Looks pretty badass," _he thought to himself making his way down the flight of rusty stairs and over to the newly-customized muscle car.

Inside Zeke had placed matching new covers over the seats, both containing some sweet looking dragon designs. In addition, he also had a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror and on the dashboard was a little skeleton figurine dressed like a hula girl.

"Like what I did with the ride that you were so kind to 'obtain' for yours truly?" the bartender asked with a sly smile, turning up his radio, currently playing "Can't Be Saved" by Senses Fail on Radio GX.

"Totally rockin' dude, I knew you had some rather 'unique' taste," Artie replied strapping on his seatbelt.

"Well then you're going to love the new engine I had put in," Zeke said gripping the 8 ball tip of his gear shift.

"You had money to put in a new engine?" Artie asked, just as Zeke floored the engine and nearly sent his head flying into the dashboard.

"Yee haw!" Zeke hollered like a cowboy riding a bucking bronco as he flew onto Hymen Avenue, jerking the wheel abruptly to the left and nearly flattening a pedestrian as the rear end fishtailed. Hammering on the gas, the rear tires squealed as he peeled down the street, nearly clipping a royal blue Buffalo.

"Dude, you're gonna get a tick-aaaahhhh!" Artie tried to call out, but was cut off as the car made a dynamic right turn that lifted the heavy car onto two wheels.

"Hell yeah, Vinewood ain't got nothing on this shit!" Zeke cried out as "American Idiot" by Green Day came over the airwaves.

"You'll never make it there if you fucking get us killed!" Artie shouted back as Zeke sped past a Flatbed semi-truck in the opposite lane, barely swerving back into the right lane as a Post Op-owned Benson came from the opposite end.

It was a chaotic, heart-pounding ride the entire way to Blue Hook and it was with some amazing ability the bartender spun into the restaurant's car park without hitting any other vehicles, only slowing down as he pulled into a parking space.

"What the fuck was that?" Artie scolded as his friend shifted the car into park.

"Dude, you mean to tell me you fucking shot up half the harbor last night and yet you were scared of one high energy ride? Since when did you pussy out so fast?" Zeke asked as he switched the ignition off and climbed out.

Artie didn't reply and briefly found himself distracted by the sign with the ridiculously large-chested woman, until he found a door slammed into his face.

"Guess you haven't gone gay after all," Zeke chuckled as the hired gun rubbed his sore nose.

"Shut up, when you got tits that large calling out to you, how can you not be distracted?" Artie retorted as they made their way inside.

The restaurant itself was actually more along the lines of a sports bar and grill that looked like a log cabin with its wooden interior and numerous animal heads hanging on the walls. All of the tables were shaped like some kind of athletic ball and there were numerous HD TV sets along the walls broadcasting more than one kind of athletic event.

"Hi there, welcome to Gazangas!" a large-breasted redhead called out in a high-pitched girlish tone, her nametag identifying her as 'Kelsey.' Like every other waitress in the room, she wore a skimpy white tanktop that left her boobs just inches away from popping out, and equally skimpy red shorts that barely covered her round ass. "Follow me please!"

_"Donnie's wet dream come true," _Artie thought to himself as they were led to a table shaped like a basketball and given some menus.

"And is there anything I can get you nice boys today?" Kelsey asked in the most flirtatious tone she could muster.

"The Clogged Bowl for both of us please, and I'll take an Orange Sprunk with it," Zeke said.

"I'll have a Secsi please," Artie replied.

"Coming right up!" the bouncy waitress said before disappearing from sight.

"The Clogged Bowl, isn't that too big for just the two of us?" Artie asked as he stared towards a raven-haired waitress bending over to pick up a pen she dropped.

Zeke laughed nervously, "Umm, I didn't tell you this, but one of my buddies called just before I picked you up and I told him he could join us if he wanted to."

"Really, and just who does this friend happen to be?" Artie asked cocking an eyebrow.

"His name's Kato, we used to play in a band together back in high school. We probably could've gone somewhere if our dumbass drummer wouldn't have sold our equipment for SPANK. We didn't have the money to buy any new equipment, so we just said 'fuck it' and went on with our lives. We still keep in touch though," Zeke explained as he stared at a waitress of Pacific Islander descent as she walked across the restaurant. It was only when she disappeared through the kitchen doors that he finally returned his gaze to Artie.

The front doors opened and a young man around Zeke's age came in, wearing a black muscle t-shirt, blue cargo pants, black combat boots and lastly, the same blue vest worn by those Aces members he had seen walking around. His short black hair was styled into a "faux-hawk" with the tips dyed blue and several piercings in each ear.

"Kato!" Zeke called out waving him towards the table.

"Zeke, dude what's up?" Kato called back walking over and high-fiving his friend.

"What the hell man? I didn't know you were one of the Aces?" the bartender said closely inspecting the vest worn by his friend.

"Joined the other day," the new recruit smiled, proudly flashing his vest for the entire world to see.

Artie stared at him closely, unable to decide whether this kid was just very brave or very stupid, knowing how gangs anywhere in general would react to the sight of a rival's colors, especially when on their turf.

He still remembered visiting Los Santos years back when he had been hanging out at a juice bar in the Glen Park district controlled by the Balling Cribs. While hanging out there, some members of the Cribs' enemies known as the Grove Street Families entered and a firefight soon followed, resulting in thirteen deaths and Artie barely escaping with his life after taking a round to the side.

"Those Redcoat gimps were giving me trouble, so I decided I needed the backup and the rest is history," Kato proclaimed, earning a grunt from Artie.

"Oh Kato, where are my manners? This is my friend Artie Cappelli, Artie this is Kato," Zeke said motioning to the hired gun, who offered an unenthusiastic handshake to the Ace.

"Nice to meet cha'," Kato spoke before taking a seat at the table with them and calling out to one of the waitresses, "Get me a Dud Lite please!"

_"This kid looks like he's barely out of high school," _Artie thought to himself as Kelsey returned with a tray carrying their drinks and the Clogged Bowl, which literally had to be the largest bowl full of barbecued chicken wings he had ever seen, instantly causing him to drool.

"You nice boys enjoy yourselves now," the waitress spoke with a girlish giggle before focusing her attention on other customers.

"So what brings you here to the glorious Rushmore City?" Kato asked as he reached for the biggest wing he could get his hands on, "The tourism? The money? The babes?"

"Well, I was here for a visit when some dipshit decided to carry out a terrorist attack, which caused the feds to get a huge fucking hair up their asses and shut us off from the rest of the world, so I'm stuck here for a while now," Artie groaned.

"This is one of those places you can never escape," Kato replied, "at least not without a toe tag," he said before taking another large bite.

"Gee thanks, I needed to hear that," the hired gun sarcastically replied.

"At least you've met some interesting characters during your stay here," Zeke chipped in, his words muffled by the food in his mouth.

"Totally," Artie spoke, his tone once again dripping with sarcasm, "If you can consider a bipolar drug-dealing granny, a metrosexual Englishman wanting to create all sorts of violence for the sake of 'dramatic flair on television,' and a 'snake in the grass' loan shark looking to hang my cousin at every turn as 'interesting,' then I guess I'm drowning in the sea of awesomeness."

"Dude, quit being such a downer, you're starting to sound too much like Randy now," Zeke said before motioning to their current environment, "You'd think all the available poo nanny and wings here would be enough to distract you for once. Christ, I'd bet he'd still be down in the dumps even if all the women were walking around here naked," he said to Kato, who snickered in reply.

"You do know I am sitting right across from you and can hear everything you're saying perfectly fine, right?" Artie spat, furrowing his brow at both men.

"Chill out man," Zeke grunted before reaching over to pat him on the shoulder, "I know you're pissed about being stuck here, but can you shut up about it for once and at least _try_ having some fun?"

"Sure whatever," Artie halfheartedly replied, chomping down on another wing.

The front doors again came flying open and four men walked in.

"Damn am I hungry!" one of the men loudly announced to the entire room.

It was when Artie noticed their bright red coats that his eyes widened and Kato reached for a firearm.

"Motherfucker die!" a Redcoat called out taking notice of their rival gang member as he and his cohorts reached for their concealed guns.

Kato quickly kicked over the table they were sitting at and withdrew an IMI Micro Uzi, while the Redcoats had Uzis of their own and gunfire was exchanged between both parties, forcing civilians who hadn't yet been hit in the crossfire to seek shelter behind their tables and whatever else they could find for cover.

Fortunately Artie had packed his CZ 75 automatic and took cover behind a counter. Zeke wasn't too far behind and had brought a Russian-made Makarov PM along.

"Gonna die Ace motherfuckers! You're all going down! Every single one of you bitches!" one of the Redcoats called out.

"Keep talking red bitch!" Kato shouted back, firing wildly until his entire clip emptied and he was forced to reload.

Hundreds of bullets were slung back and forth with neither side giving up and frightened workers and patrons alike lying face down on the floor with their hands thrown over their heads. Three customers were killed right away during the skirmish and a fourth lay seriously wounded not too far away.

"C'mon out you pussies! We haven't got all goddamned day!" one of the red-clad attackers shouted, laughing wildly as he fired at the counter Artie and Zeke hid behind.

Artie peeked around a corner, only to jump away as a cluster of rounds was fired in his direction while the gunner laughed hysterically.

Zeke meanwhile noticed his friend's predicament and bounced up, firing a lone round that caught the shooter in his shoulder, forcing him to drop his weapon.

With his attacker subdued, Artie finished the man off with a salvo of screaming metal to the chest.

"Ponz," one of the Redcoats called out, looking down upon his fallen friend and returning fire, "You're gonna pay motherfucker!"

Seeing Kato stick his arm out from behind his table, the Redcoat dove for cover behind the hostess' podium before a blind barrage could be fired in his direction, bumping into a waitress had also taken cover.

Kato was already getting dangerously low on ammo for his Mini Uzi, but mentally patted himself on the back for being smart enough to bring along a Beretta 92F as backup and noticed two Redcoats who had attempted to take cover behind one of the pool tables. He had no idea where the third was with all the chaos taking place and focused on the two enemies hidden behind the table and fired blindly, managing to hit one in the throat and the other in his left arm.

Artie and Zeke watched as another Redcoat fell and a third was wounded, the latter fleeing out the back door. Before they could open fire, they were halted by a woman's scream and looked towards the front of the restaurant, where the fourth rival gang member had taken one of the waitresses hostage and was using her as a human shield.

"C'mon Ace bitch, bring it!" the red-clad gangster cackled as he fired away at the table Kato hid behind, "I'm right here!" he shouted clutching the woman tighter.

Artie looked over to Zeke, "Get out there and stop that other bastard, I'll take this fucker!"

With a nod, the bartender slipped out the back door in pursuit of the other gangster.

"C'mon you fucking pussy! You wanted me so bad, well here I am!" the Redcoat shouted firing away madly at Kato, stopping only when the waitress struggled. "Shut up bitch! I'm blowing your pretty little head off after I'm done with him!"

Artie peeked up from behind the counter and steadied his aim on the distracted thug, hoping to hit him in the head or shoulder so he would be forced to release the woman.

"C'mon out and shoot me blue balls!" the Redcoat called out, just as Artie squeezed the trigger and sent a round sailing through his temple.

There was no time to check on the waitress or any other patrons as the last attacker still needed to be stopped. A cacophony of loud pops came from outside, a definite sign there was more trouble than expected.

"Come on!" Artie shouted to Kato and the two of them made their way outside, only to find Zeke pinned down behind a Contender pickup truck.

A small platoon of Redcoat reinforcements had just arrived and had blocked off the parking lot entrance with one of their Burritos, while three of their Clovers had swerved to a halt on the surrounding grass. Most of them were wielding AK-47s and a few of them even carried pipe bombs.

"Suck on this Ace bitches!" one of the Redcoats shouted before tossing a pipe bomb into the lot, landing beneath a dark blue Mesa Grande jeep, taking it out in an explosion which also claimed the Sultan RS parked next to it.

"Fuckers took out my ride!" Kato growled as he and Artie took cover behind a bright red Buffalo.

"Oh shit, look out!" Artie shouted as he spotted another red and white Clover coming along the nearby street, its passenger sticking his arm out with an MP5 in hand.

Grabbing the young Ace by the shoulders, both of them managed to get out of the way just in time as a volley of rounds tore through the side of the muscle car.

"They're fucking everywhere!" Artie grunted after sliding across the hood of a Sunrise and landing hard on his side. He looked over to see Kato reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cell phone, "What are you doing?"

"Calling for backup!" the Ace shouted back, "Come on, come on goddamn it! Somebody pick up!" he screamed at the phone until someone finally picked up.

"Thank you!" he shouted with a brief smile before shouting into the phone, "Rex, its Kato! I need your help!"

Artie meanwhile popped up from behind the sedan and fired a burst at one of the Redcoats, who responded with a barrage that violently rocked the small luxury car.

"Dude, look I'm sorry to interrupt you getting your daily drink on and your daily blowjob, but we're in serious trouble over here and we need some fucking backup!" Kato screamed into his phone and listened before talking again, "Yeah, I know I'm the rookie and I fucked up, but you'll have to bitch me out later. We need some serious fucking help man! I'm with two guys over at the Gazangas in Blue Hook. I promise we'll save something for you to shoot up! Just get your ass over here please!"

The Sunrise was still being hammered away by the incessant automatic fire and Artie was listening to the hiss of fluids draining from the car, "Fucking move!"

Both men rounded the corner of the building, just in time to avoid the blast. All Artie could think about right now was if Zeke was alright or not.

"Alright, I just got through to Rex. He's going to round up some guys and they should be over in a few minutes!" Kato shouted, just as the Clover rounded the corner again and the same Redcoat popped out to fire away at them.

"I don't think we'll have a few minutes to spare!" Artie shouted back as he tried to return fire, a few of his bullets pinging off of the car's surface, coming nowhere near hitting his intended target.

Zeke had managed to survive the blast and was now hiding behind a Moonbeam minivan, dangerously low on ammo for his Makarov. He looked around the vehicle and saw he wasn't too far away from his Sabre GT, which had taken a few rounds, but otherwise appeared to be in workable condition.

"You gotta die sometime bitch!" a Redcoat shouted before firing a torrent of lead upon the van, shattering all of the windows and deflating the driver's side tires.

Taking a deep breath, Zeke crept along the side of the van and stuck his arm out, blinding firing three rounds at his attackers and doing no damage. The pissed off Redcoats responded with another flurry that made him wince and nearly drop his gun.

_"Where the fuck did they go?" _he asked himself looking around frantically for Artie and Kato, fearing he had been abandoned. It was only when the Redcoat Clover came soaring past again that he saw his friends fire upon the moving target, breathing a vapid sigh of relief.

Artie ducked behind a dumpster as the Clover came speeding by and fired another constant barrage upon him and Kato. He fired again upon the muscle car, but it was moving too fast and instead his bullets ricocheted off the pavement.

_"Christ, I'm running out of ammo trying to battle these stupid fucks," _he thought to himself as he ejected his latest magazine and scrambled through his pockets for antoher.

"Any last words you piece of shit?" the passenger called out as the Clover approached.

Artie watched as the rival gangster reached for something other than his MP5, a steel cylindrical object that left his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

"Crap, Kato hit the deck!" the errand boy called out as he was preparing to dive for cover elsewhere, when a bullet tore through the would-be bomber's arm and forcing him to drop the improvised explosive.

The crude explosive hit the pavement and detonated a second later, sending the Clover flipping forward and landing on its roof, skidding down the street as it was swallowed up by the flames.

"What the hell?" Artie muttered as a dark blue '84 Polaris V8 with gold trim came roaring into view and skidded to a halt near the car park followed by four blue-clad individuals stepping out with weapons drawn.

"Did someone order a cavalry?" the driver called out, a tall muscular man with his short brown hair shaved into a crewcut and carrying an M-249 S.A.W. light machinegun.

Depressing the trigger, a stream of rounds tore through the nearest Redcoats and shredded through the parked vehicles at a frightening pace, the gunman letting out a mighty war cry as he dropped his foes in one flesh-ripping torrent of madness.

The three other inhabitants were each armed with AK-47s and wasted no time returning fire upon their hated enemies.

Zeke threw himself to the ground as the machinegun tore through the parked vehicles around him and scooped up his fallen pistol, seeing he still had four shots left in his current clip.

Slowly rising back to his feet, he peered through one of the Moonbeam's shattered windows to see his saviors dropping several of the Redcoats in one fell swoop. He could only watch in amazement as the tall guy with the machinegun ripped through their adversaries without breaking a sweat, like he would typically see in a Jack Howitzer movie.

_"He's got everything down to a T, even his war cry sounds like the one Howitzer used in the first 'Evacuator' when he was shooting down that entire platoon of Viet Cong soldiers while trying to nail that Vietnamese chick at the same time," _he thought to himself as he spotted a blood-covered Redcoat trying to raise his rifle and get a pot shot in on the machine gunner. Zeke took aim and fired what was left of his clip into the man's back, spattering his blood all over a nearby '08 Chavos.

"You see Artie, this is how we call for backup, Ace style!" Kato shouted back pulling out his Beretta 92F and shooting a Redcoat in the back of his neck, dead before he hit the ground.

The Aces were making good time and had by now picked off most of the Redcoats, seemingly on the verge of victory until one of the blue-clad gang bangers took several rounds to the chest and struck his head against a curb as he fell backwards to the ground.

"You son of a bitch!" the machine gunner cried out, firing at the killer. His rounds tore through the Redcoats chest and the rival gangster was dead within seconds, but the enraged shooter continued to shred away until it looked like his deceased enemy had been sent through a garbage disposal.

It took one final round from the AK-47 of another Ace to drop the last Redcoat, sending the bothersome gangster collapsing onto the hood of Zeke's Sabre GT.

"Motherfucker, I just got a new paintjob!" the bartender cried in dismay, angrily kicking the Redcoat corpse away from his car.

A police siren called out from a distance, stopping the victors dead in their tracks.

"C'mon, we've gotta get outta here!" the machine gunner shouted, "Kato, you're coming with me!"

"I don't have much choice anyway, those fuckers wrecked my Mesa!" the rookie Ace shouted back running over to the muscle car.

"And I'm not gonna have much choice in not kicking your ass later on!" the gunner replied.

"Dude, it's not like I expected to run into some fucking Redcoats!" Kato protested as he climbed inside.

"C'mon, we've gotta go!" Zeke shouted over to Artie and then turned his attention to Kato, "Gimme a call later!"

"Sure thing man!" the Ace shouted back as the Polaris V8 sped away in the opposite direction.

Zeke tossed Artie his set of keys, "You'd better drive man, I'll hold those pigs off if they get too close!" the bartender said reaching down to grab a dead Redcoat's AK-47.

"Gotcha," Artie shouted back climbing into the driver's seat and firing the car up, peeling out of the car park just as one of the blue and white R.C.P.D. cars came into view.

_"You in the sweet looking Sabre GT! This is the Rushmore City Police Department, pull over immediately or we will be forced to open fire!" _an officer shouted over the microphone, _"And please surrender, we really don't wanna damage that sweet ride!"_

"Just keep driving!" Zeke shouted back sticking his upper body out the window and firing upon the pursuing cruiser, pelting the hood with bullets and shattering the windshield.

Artie did as he was told and sped through a busy intersection, causing a Packer transport truck to slam head on into a green and white Banshee, followed by an oncoming NRG-900 slamming into the totaled sports car and its driver flying airborne into the path of a V8 Ghost.

Another patrol car joined the chase, its passenger peppering the back end of the Sabre GT with rounds and shattering the rear window.

"Goddamn it, first I get a car blown up and now this," Zeke complained as he waited for an opportune time to return fire, "I guess there goes my funding for that new drum set."

"Why don't you just worry about getting those fucking pigs off our tail for now," Artie called back narrowly dodging an incoming Hellenbach GT followed by a Borgnine cab, whose driver would pull out a Desert Eagle and begin firing upon them until they were out of sight.

When the cruiser's passenger stopped to reload his gun, the bartender stuck his upper torso out the window and fired again, his bullets tearing through the windshield and hitting the passenger in the chest repeatedly. He fired again and struck one of the car's front tires, causing it to swerve out of control and smash into a bus stop kiosk.

"Damn, that's some nice shooting kid. I might have to start bringing you along on future missions," Artie laughed as he swerved to avoid an oncoming Roadtrain.

"Nah, I don't possess nearly half the cojones you do. I only fight when I absolutely have to," Zeke replied as he ejected the spent AK clip and then reached for the Remington 870 he kept in a rack behind the seats. He continued to hold the shotgun for dear life until no more police sirens could be heard.

"Alright, I think we lost 'em," Artie said looking around cautiously before turning up the radio, which was currently playing "Holiday in Cambodia" by the Dead Kennedys.

"Thanks a lot for your help though, definitely a good thing I decided to bring you along," Zeke said finally laying back in his seat and relaxing, "I never expected those bitches to show up like that. Hell, I honestly had no idea Kato was even part of the Aces."

"Well he almost got us killed flashing his colors out in public like that. Christ, I don't know whether he was just brave or stupid pulling shit like that," Artie grunted.

"Hey, Kato's a good guy!" Zeke snapped, "He's not as soft around the edges as you might think, but then again he thinks he has to act macho all the time just because his parents named him Kelly."

Artie snickered slightly at the statement, "Really? You mean he seriously thinks he has to go around starting shit just to show the world he's not some girlish sissy because of his name alone? Christ, he's going to be in a pine box before you know it."

"He's always figured he'll die young anyway, don't ask me why. Back when we were in high school he once rode through a cornfield on a Quad while wearing a flame retardant body suit just for shits and giggles. Seriously man, there's never a dull moment with that guy around," Zeke replied shaking his head.

Artie pulled the Sabre GT to a halt in front of The Little Black Book and the duo approached the door, only to stop when they heard loud sobbing coming from within.

Cautiously approaching the door, the hired gun looked back to Zeke and nodded before pulling out his CZ 75 and easing the door open a bit before shoving it hard and throwing himself inside with his gun drawn, expecting that maybe Sneed had sent somebody to finish the job with Gino.

Instead, Artie entered to find his cousin slumped over the bar counter with a half-empty bottle of champagne in hand, sobbing and babbling incoherently.

"What the fuck?" he asked Zeke.

The entire room had at one point been spruced up to resemble a fancy restaurant with some cleaned up curtains hung from the walls, now covered in various types of food. One of the pool tables had been converted into a buffet table, all of the food now scattered about, and a table had been set up in the center of the room, which was now overturned with all of its contents littering the floor around it. A tape on Zeke's radio still played Beethoven's "Moonlit Sonata," set on a loop so the piece played over and over again.

Gino himself had been spruced up too at one point, wearing a fancy black sport coat, matching slacks, a white dress shirt underneath and a bright red tie. A matching rose had been positioned in his breast pocket, but was now crumpled thanks to him slumping over the counter.

Pukin' Pete sat across from him, guzzling down his own bottle of champagne before burping loudly.

"Man Gino…you gotta…st-st-stop…shutting this place…down…I mean…bro's over…ho's…" he said, hiccupping the last word out.

"Alright, what the hell just happened here?" Zeke called out running over to the bar, "I leave this place for one day and already you've reduced it to an even bigger shithole than what it already is. Seriously boss, what the fuck just happened here?"

Gino was far too inebriated to reply, communicating through a series of gurgles, groans and unintelligible slurred words, the only word either man being able to make out was "whore."

"That 'hot date' must've broken his heart. He hasn't drunk this much since his ex-wife left him," Zeke said struggling to help his soused boss stand upright, only to have the man collapse backward and knock a bunch of bottles from the nearby rack, "Shit, help me with him!"

Running behind the counter, Artie picked his cousin up beneath his other arm and they led the portly man over to one of the booths.

"Gino, I don't know about you," the younger Cappelli cousin sighed, shaking his head at the older man, who was still unable to speak clearly.

"Duh…woman…ev…evil…" he slurred, falling forward and hitting his head on the table.

"You'll never learn," Artie said helping sit him back against his seat, "Don't know if it's gonna be alright with you."

Zeke meanwhile had made his way back towards the supply closet to get a mop, only to find the door locked.

"What the hell?" he said struggling with the knob, only to hear some frightened whimpering coming from within, "Randy?"

"Zeke…Zeke is that you?" his friend squeaked from the other side.

"Yeah, it's me dude. You can open the door now!" Zeke said pounding on it again.

"Is it over yet?" his friend asked.

"Is what over?" Zeke demanded, "Dude, just open the fucking door. Nobody's here to kill you!"

"B-B-B-But sh-sh-she…m-might be here to r-r-rape me!" he stammered.

"What?" Zeke replied with a roll of his eyes, "Dude, its safe now please just open the door! We need to get this place cleaned up."

A couple of deep breaths were heard from the other side before the door slowly opened and Randy peeked his head out like he was hiding from somebody out to get him.

"Randy, it's alright man," Zeke said pulling the door open, "What the hell just happened here? This place looks like Steel Junction's attempt at looking classy!"

Pulling out an inhaler, the former Cluckin' Bell cashier took a couple of puffs before speaking, "It was horrible man. Gino's date showed up and…oh god man she was like fucking six hundred pounds and she ravished the buffet I toiled over helping Gino set up and when he wanted some food for himself…all hell broke loose…"

"Okay, I don't think I should bother to ask any further," Zeke said as his friend finally stepped out to survey the aftermath.

"She wasn't interested in Gino man…she was interested in me…" Randy said with a loud gulp, to which Zeke forced himself to suppress a snicker, "…she fucking tried to rape me man! If I had my phone with me I would've called the zoo and told them one of their hippos escaped!"

"Okay, okay Randy settle down dude," Zeke said leading his friend over to a stool a couple spots away from Pukin' Pete, "We'll get this place cleaned up and wash away all the memories of this horrible day."

"Dude, you're gonna need to give me fucking fifty years' worth of therapy to get this image out of my mind!" Randy bellowed, on the verge of ripping his hair out of his head.

Artie had been maintaining a careful vigil over his cousin when his phone began ringing and he looked down to see it was Donnie calling.

"Donnie, what's up?"

_"Hey yo' Cuz, you got anything going on right now?" _Donnie called out from the other end.

Before Artie could speak, Pukin' Pete suddenly vomited all over the counter.

"Hey, that's my workplace jackass!" Zeke shouted in disgust.

"Umm…no why?" Artie replied, thinking his other cousin may have had something in mind for him.

_"Good because I need your assistance pronto," _Donnie spoke.

"What's going on now?" the hired gun asked, barely able to disguise any exasperation in his voice.

_"One of my 'friends' is in a jam and needs some urgent assistance, so I figured you'd be the man to come to. Don't worry bro', I'll see to it that you get some money for this good deed. Scout's honor," _Donnie spoke slyly.

"Okay, what's your, or should I say your 'friend's' problem?" Artie asked looking down to Gino, who looked like he was about to fall over again.

_"It's something I'd rather tell you in person. Meet me at my condo whenever you're available."_

"Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes. Just hang tight Donnie Boy," Artie said before switching his phone off.

"Okay guys, I hate to cut this short, but Donnie needs some help and I'm going over to his place," the Italian-American said making his way toward s the door.

"No problem man, hopefully we'll have this place looking good as new by the time you get back…as good as new as we possibly can…" Zeke said staring at Pukin' Pete as he knocked over some barstools.

Artie made his way outside and rounded the corner into the side alley, making his way towards his waiting Sentinel.

As he got closer, he was halted by the ghastly stench associated with one person he had come to hate during his stay in Rushmore City.

Approaching the sedan cautiously he looked in through the shattered rear window to see Old Freda sound asleep in his backseat.

Reacting on instinct, Artie reached for his pistol and began firing rounds at the car.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CAR YOU RANCID BITCH!"

The bullets startled the aging prostitute awake, one of the rounds tearing some of her frizzled hair away as it embedded itself in the seat behind her.

"Is it time to fuck yet?" she called out in her high-pitched drunken squawk.

"Get out of my car you fucking ugly freak of nature! I fucking hate you!" Artie screamed yanking his door open and pointing his gun threateningly at her face.

"Why can't you just threaten me with your other 'gun' baby?" the woman asked staring towards his crotch.

Screaming in rage, Artie fired a round through her upper arm.

"You don't have to be so bossy sexy boy," Freda laughed, acting as if the bullet had no effect on her. Stepping out of the car, she suddenly collapsed onto the pavement and laid there in a daze. For all Artie knew, he honestly didn't care if she died right then and there in that back alley.

"Fucking bitch," he growled staring at his now shot up Sentinel, _"Damn it Artie, you should've gotten the fucking windows fixed before you went to bed last night."_

"No way in hell I'm gonna drive around in that," he said with a shudder and then returned his attention to the street. _"Gonna have to find another ride over there."_

Walking onto the street he looked around for any available vehicles and spotted a '92 Club compact approaching. Running over to the car he quickly yanked the door open.

"Need to borrow your car sir," Artie announced as he struggled with its occupant, an overweight red-haired man in a bright Hawaiian shirt.

"This is my mom's car you asshole!" the man shouted back.

"Well now it's not!" Artie grunted as he finally forced the man onto the street and climbed inside, gunning it down the street.

As he sped down the street a news broadcast came over the radio:

_"This is Aidan Finn live on the scene with RCNN-13 News, where yet another massive shootout has just occurred between the warring Aces and Redcoats street gangs, this time at the Gazangas restaurant in Blue Hook. There have been twenty-two confirmed fatalities, among them three patrons, eighteen Redcoats, and one Ace, who has been identified as 24 year old Trey Roberson. Police are still taking eyewitness statements at this point, assuring there will be more to come as this story further develops."_

Artie switched over to the Beatbox 102 hip-hop station, which was currently playing "Back That Azz Up" by Juvenile.

_"You'd better make this worth my time Donnie," _he thought making his way for the Lakeview district.

Author's Note: And so ends another installment of "Rushmore City" and the end of a man date that thankfully involved none of that 'yaoi' bullshit…ugh!

The Clogged Bowl of Gazangas would be inspired by any large order of wings you can get from a Hooters and just how you feel so clogged up afterwards…then again all the boobs make it worth your while…*smiles*

Well I hope you enjoyed yet another "shoot 'em up friendly" installment of "Rushmore City" and as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	22. A Prized Possession

Chapter 22: A Prized Possession

It took a while before Artie had managed to reach the Lakeview district, enjoying a quick meal from Taco Hell that had been left in the hapless motorist's passenger's seat.

Slowing to a halt in front of Donnie's condo, he parked on the street rather than the driveway and made his way across the nicely-trimmed lawn to the front door and rang the bell, which chimed to the beat of Sam & Dave's "Soul Man" rather than the usual solitary 'ding.'

Donnie answered the door dressed in a Rushmore University t-shirt and blue workout shorts with a protein shake in hand.

"Hey come on in Cuz, glad to see you finally decided to make your presence felt here at Casa de Donnie!" the elder Cappelli said motioning for his cousin to enter.

"Wow, this is some place you've got here," Artie said looking around. This place was definitely the lap of luxury compared to the relative squalor in which he and Gino resided.

The living room was a large open space with several comfortable, yet expensive-looking couches arranged in the middle of the room before a grand fireplace with a glass table in the center outlined by marble. Above the fireplace was a wall-mounted HD TV and at each side were small lighting fixtures caressed by maiden statues made of solid bronze.

There were also several works of art present, including a band poster that had been signed by all the original members of Love Fist, which he knew would have made Gino die out of jealousy.

At the back of the room was a gaming area with a pool table and some arcade games. Not too far away from the sliding glass doors leading to the back patio was a Lycan motorcycle with a flame paintjob and near that was a tiger's pelt serving as a throw rug. A state-of-the-art stereo system was also present, currently playing "Maneater" by Hall and Oates.

_"Jesus Fucking Christ, how can you afford all this stuff Donnie?" _Artie asked himself until his cousin placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you Cuz, now please have a seat," he said motioning towards one of the couches, "Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea? Dude Lite?"

"No thanks," Artie replied taking a seat and stretching his legs out, "I just had some Taco Hell on the way over here."

"Eh, your loss," Donnie said returning from the kitchen area with a Dud Lite in hand and taking a seat across from his cousin, grabbing a remote from the coffee table and switching the stereo off.

"So what's going on? You said you needed my assistance because one of your 'friends' was in a jam or something like that," Artie asked, his eyes still darting back and forth on the expensive trinkets decorating the living area.

"Getting down to business already, huh? Normally I'm one to complain about such a mindset, but since you're family I find myself liking it for some odd reason," Donnie said setting his beer down onto a coaster, "One of my closest friends recently got his ass busted after he got too careless and because of it, he ended up getting his pride and joy impounded by the police."

"So this friend of yours is yet another criminal? Jeez Donnie, what the hell kind of people are you associating yourself with?" Artie scoffed.

"I roll with A-Listers Arthur, high society. Granted, some of them might not be on the right side of the law, but then again who really is in this city to begin with?" Donnie said picking up his beer again, "Never mind that, but my point is that we still look out for each other. You know how that goes, you scratch my back and I scratch your back."

"If you're so gung-ho about 'scratching other peoples' backs,' then why aren't you getting this person's prized possession back yourself?" Artie asked leaning towards his cousin.

"As much as I love my closest friends, I am still a busy man and when you're a busy man, you naturally tend to have your hands filled with numerous projects at once. Sure you can multitask, but there's only so much multitasking that you can do," Donnie said before taking a long chug of his beer, "When you're a busy man, you also tend to pick up your fair share of enemies and thus there are certain areas you can't be caught dead in."

"Hmm, well you did manage to waltz right into a police station and blackmail the captain into setting your cousin free, I don't see why you can't just bribe these people who hate you so much into not blasting your head off," Artie replied looking over to an expensive-looking coat of arms that looked more like it belonged in some ancient European castle, something his cousin must have spent a pretty penny on.

"Very funny Cuz," Donnie spat with an angry scowl before setting his empty beer can down, "I guess there isn't a big enough dollar amount that can make you shut your mouth, am I correct?"

"Fine, now you're talking my language, now please do go on," Artie said, still feeling a little put off by his cousin's secretive nature.

"Alright, I'll cut straight to the chase, my buddy got busted a few nights ago, but his lawyer managed to get him out. However, the police impounded his beloved '08 Infernus and the corrupt bastards aren't giving it back even after he's signed the paperwork and everything else necessary to secure its release, minus turning tricks in a back alley," Donnie replied.

"Thank God," Artie breathed.

"Anyways, the car itself is being held in the impound lot behind the precinct house over in Victor and we need somebody to get it back. Seeing as how you were able to help me secure that truck full of antiques for my other friend, I have chosen you Artie, yes you my dear cousin to help us out with this endeavor," Donnie proclaimed pointing to him.

"Should I feel flattered or frightened?" Artie laughed, only to receive another sharp stare from his cousin.

"Can you please take this seriously for once?" Donnie demanded before composing himself, "Alright, naturally they're not going to just open the gates for an average Joe like yourself, unless you pay them of course, but we're not gonna go that route. However, they will open for a squad car, so by any means you need to get your hands on one and I don't give a shit how you get it, just as long as you can get something that will get you inside that impound lot."

"Alright, what does this baby look like?" Artie asked.

"I have a photo saved here on my phone," Donnie replied reaching for his cell phone, until his doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" he said rushing towards the front door like he was a kid who had been waiting for some present to arrive in the mail.

At the front door was the same busty woman from the gym whom Donnie followed into the shower area, only this time she was clad in a white masseuse's outfit, with an extremely short skirt that barely covered her private area.

"Are you ready for your appointment?" she seductively cooed, but then noticed the elder Cappelli still had company.

"Oh never mind my cousin Vanessa, I was just dismissing him," Donnie said returning his attention to Artie, "Hey listen Cuz, I'm gonna have to send you the picture later on. I've got some 'business' to attend to."

"Uh yeah sure," Artie replied, finding himself turned on by the attractive woman, who smiled and offered him a friendly wave. Donnie saw this and gently grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Don't worry, I'll send it to you soon, I promise!" the elder Cappelli said leading his masseuse into the other room.

"Sure thing," Artie called out shutting the front door behind him.

It was now getting dark and the sun could be seen setting along the horizon, the once light blue sky shifting between various shades of dark navy blue, purple, pink and the forthcoming black. He could actually hear the crickets chirping at the howls of a few dogs in the distance, a welcome change from his neighborhood.

_"I can't believe this kind of place is here in Rushmore City. This place is like a suburban utopia," _Artie said to himself enjoying the quiet serenity. Around here there were no police sirens, no gunshots, no dying screams or threats of violence, just nothing but peace and quiet. He stood alone with his thoughts until they were broken by a police siren, "Guess I spoke too soon."

He watched passively as a police cruiser sped into view with its lights flashing and sirens blaring, disrupting the tranquility of an otherwise peaceful community. The vehicle screeched to a sudden halt outside of a light green house across the street from Donnie's condo and a cop quickly ran to the front door, where a woman's ear-piercing screams came from within.

"I want this son of a bitch out of my fucking house! He ain't worth a shit and can't even hold down a fucking job because he's such a worthless fucking drunk!"

"Well look what that bitch did to my fucking eye!" a man's voice shouted back.

"Ma'am, Sir, can you please watch the language while children are present?" the officer called out.

"Oh I'll do even more to your fucking eye you fat assed piece of shit!" the woman screamed before several crashing noises followed.

"Jackpot," Artie exclaimed happily running over and climbing inside the cruiser, "Cops in this city are fucking stupid!" he laughed while buckling himself in and then slamming the gas pedal down to the floor.

He knew exactly where he had to go and switched on the lights and siren once he was out of the Lakeview district, smiling to himself as other motorists pulled over to the side so he could pass.

_"God I need to get myself one of these," _he smirked to himself, the smirk becoming an ear-to-ear grin as he saw the Remington 870 shotgun resting in the center console as well as a Beretta M9 sidearm. Furthermore, he would almost laugh aloud in joy as he saw a navy blue jacket with _'R.C.P.D.' _emblazoned upon the back in gold reflective letters and the officer's cap lying on top of it.

"Should be a piece of cake," Artie told himself as he pulled over to the side and slipped on the coat and hat.

_"All available units report, we have reports of a possible battle in the Horgate district. Shots have been fired and there are believed to be casualties. Aces and Redcoat street gangs are believed to be the perpetrators. Repeat, we have a possible gang battle in Horgate, all available units respond."_

Artie switched off the radio and continued with his journey to the precinct house over in Victor, only switching on his lights and siren when he finally approached the large ivory building and slowly pulled into the side alley.

He pulled up to the gate and rolled down his window, where an officer in the booth put down his newspaper and pushed the button that allowed him to enter.

"Go right on in," the man spoke, noticing only the hat and jacket which Artie wore, not even bothering to question his identity.

The impound lot was much larger than the hired gun had expected and he rode around looking for any sports cars, finding mostly large vans that were probably used for transporting drugs and illegal firearms, and the occasional sports car here and there, but no Infernus.

He was about to call Donnie when a loud beeping suddenly came from his phone and made him jump.

To his relief it was just a text message from Donnie:

_"OK Cuz, here's the ride I was talking about. She's quite a beauty ain't she? Get this baby over to the storage unit in Jansport."_

A picture of a beautiful bright red Infernus was included with the text message. The picture almost made Artie drool he was so taken by its splendor and would gladly claim it for himself had it not belonged to somebody who would most likely track him down and attempt to blow his head off had he actually gone through with it.

He kept driving the cruiser around the lot until he spotted the very sports car he had been sent after, being checked out by two officers drooling about it in the same manner.

"Man, this sure is a beauty," an overweight gray-haired officer said, "Maybe if I got this for my wife she'd stop bitching at me all the time."

"Heh, I heard that," replied his colleague, a lanky brown-haired man, "Screw getting a Tropic, I'd take this sexy bitch any day of the week."

Artie stopped the cruiser and got out, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder and carefully concealing the Beretta.

"Hey man, you here to check this beauty out too?" asked the older officer, stopping when he suddenly realized there wasn't something right about the faux cop's uniform.

"I am as a matter of fact. I intend to do more than just check it out," Artie said before pumping the Remington and firing a round of buckshot into the man's stomach. Before his colleague could react, he too would fall with a blast to the torso, both men slowly bleeding out as the hired gun ran over and climbed inside the car, getting to work hotwiring it.

The two shotgun blasts had been heard and already there were two additional officers making their way into the yard and opening fire, several of their rounds striking the beautiful car's exterior.

As soon as the engine roared with life, he gunned it out of there towards the iron gate, slamming through and peeling to a halt, but not quick enough to avoid hitting the broad side of the adjoining building.

_"Fuck, I'm gonna have to stop by a Pay n' Spray and get this baby fixed up. No doubt its owner is gonna want it in mint condition," _Artie told himself as he sped onto the street at an alarming rate that almost had him shitting his pants, several cars swerving out of his way as they noticed the red streak coming at them.

Fortunately, the car's amazing speed enabled him to more easily outrun the cops and within seconds the sirens were heard no more.

"Easy as pie," he said aloud making his way over to the nearest Pay n' Spray in Red Light District and pulled in to meet up with the jumper-clad workers.

"What'll it be kid?" one of them asked.

"Just touch up the dings and bullet holes on this baby, keep the color and everything else the same," Artie said stepping out and handing the man five one hundred dollar bills, making his way over to the lounge where he purchased a soda from the Sprunk machine.

Relaxing in one of the chairs he grabbed the remote and switched on the TV, flipping through several channels until he came across "I'm Rich" on the CNT network. Normally he wasn't a fan of reality television, but with nothing else on and needing a distraction while he sat around waiting, he caved in and watched as Clay "PG" Jackson showed off a fancy mansion he had recently purchased in the Vinewood Hills, currently in the billiard room where a bunch of large-bottomed women were shown shaking their asses to his latest single, a sight which almost made him chuckle given the rumors of the rapper's alleged homosexuality.

About an hour and a half passed as the mechanics worked their magic and the lead worker knocked on the sliding window before pulling it aside.

"Hey bub, your car is ready to go!"

Making his way back into the garage he again smiled, seeing the car looking good as new.

"Just like you wanted it kid, you keep that baby of yours in good shape now, ya' hear?" the lead worker spoke as he climbed inside.

"Oh I will," the Italian-American replied starting the car up, the station set on Techno Playground FM, playing "Can't Get You out of My Head" by Kylie Minogue. Being cautious for once, he pulled out slowly into traffic and made his way towards Jansport.

While he made his way down the street he heard the same cheery tone that accompanied his text messages and flipped his phone open to see it was from Gladys, who was just inquiring on how well he was doing and wanting to do something together sometime, throwing in a few 'x's' and 'o's' for good measure.

_"Gonna have to wait sweetheart," _he thought as he made his way into Jansport and past the Cluckin' Bell where Randy formerly worked before approaching the same storage unit where he and Donnie had dropped off that moving truck for the latter's friend about a week ago. Getting out of the car, he quickly walked over and pulled the shutter open before climbing back into the car and driving it inside, closing the shutter behind it again.

"That settles that," Artie whispered to himself pulling out his cell phone and speed dialed Donnie's number, pacing back and forth as he listened to the ringing and mentally screamed at his cousin to pick up before the phone finally switched on. Before he could even say hello, he heard a woman's moans coming from the other end.

"Donnie?" he asked, wondering if he should really have been surprised.

The elder Cappelli cousin was lying on his pool table while Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing" played on his stereo in the background. A naked Vanessa bounced up and down on top of him, moaning sweetly as he clenched her buttock with his free hand. Needless to say, what had initially began a massage soon turned into something more.

_"Uh Donnie, are you there?" _his cousin spoke from the other end, but Donnie had been too distracted by the beautiful black woman's bouncing DD-sized breasts as she continued riding him hard.

_"DONNIE!" _he screamed.

"What? Oh yeah…yeah I'm here Cuz, what's going on?" he spoke as Vanessa arched her back and called out his name.

_"I got your friend's car to the storage unit in Jansport. It got a little roughed up on the way out of the impound lot, but I stopped by the Pay n' Spray and got it cleaned up. It's good as new and I think he'll be happy," _Artie reported.

"Oh right…that…that job…" Donnie managed to get out before squirming hard, "…yeah I'll see to it that you get paid…for your job well done!"

_"Alright, sounds good Cuz," _Artie said.

"You did real good!" Donnie shouted just as Vanessa bounced on him really hard.

"What about me baby?" the woman demanded grinding herself against him as hard as she could. Her moans had now become full blown screams of ecstasy as Donnie felt her vaginal fluids coating his rod.

"Yeah, you too!" the elder cousin shot back squirming and groaning, both of them feeling their coming climaxes.

_"Okay, you sound busy. I think I'm gonna let you go."_

"Yeah, I'll talk to you later!" Donnie shouted back just as Vanessa began pleading wildly.

"Please Donnie, do it all over my chest!"

Artie switched the phone off and shuddered at the thought of his cousin busting his load all over some woman he would probably be kicking to the curb the next day.

_"Then again, he invited her over for a second round, so that's kind of an 'improvement' for him," _Artie thought as his phone suddenly rang again.

"What the fuck?" he grunted in frustration, seeing he was now being called by Aunt Gracie, "What does this psycho bitch want?" he asked before switching on the phone.

_"Arthur, I require your assistance at once young man!" _the woman called out.

"Needing to be picked up from the bingo hall?" the errand boy asked, until a shotgun blast echoed from the background.

_"Very funny smartass," _Aunt Gracie hollered, slipping back into her 'psychotic' tone, _"Listen up, some of those Yardie hoodlums jumped me while I was making a delivery to my friend's bridge game and now they've got me cornered in the Blue Mahoe Inn over on Ocho Rios Avenue in Little Jamaica. I need you to get your pansy ass over here and help me goddamn it!"_

"Remember that I don't work for free," Artie spoke slyly, knowing she wasn't there to slap him upside the head.

_"Fine, I'll pay your bitch ass $2,000 if you come over and help me!" _she hollered just as more loud pops could be heard, followed by the shatter of glass.

"Make it three, I'm looking to move out of my cousin's place," Artie demanded. In truth he wasn't, hoping to get the hell out of the city once the blockade was lifted, but really wanted to twist her arm for the hell she's put him through in the past.

Another loud explosion sounded followed by a frightened scream from the elderly woman, which almost made the young man laugh aloud, _"Not as tough as you think you old crow."_

_ "Fine, $3,000 it is, and please hurry!" _she shouted before hanging up.

"This would be a good time to call Iceman," Artie whispered going through his phonebook and finding the gun runner's number, hitting the speed dial button.

_"Hey, what's poppin' dude?" _Iceman called out.

"Iceman, I need some of your 'merchandise.' You think you can meet me somewhere safe in Jansport?" Artie asked.

_"No problem man, I'm on my way," _he replied before hanging up.

It took a few minutes, but Artie smiled as he saw the silver and blue Patriot come speeding into view and pull into a back alley where they could safely conduct their transaction.

Iceman stepped out and finished up a drink from Burger Shot before making his way around to the back, leaving the engine running as Lamb of God's song "Grace" blared over his radio.

"Hey man, I take it you've pissed off some people again, huh?"

"Not really, just gotta help a friend in need…we I don't know if I'd really call them that," Artie replied as the tattooed man opened the rear hatch and proudly displayed his cache.

"The Iceman Express is open for business. Choose wisely my friend."

Artie first selected a bulletproof vest and then shifted through the available firearms, selecting an AMP Automag Model 180 and some ammo for it, along with an FN P90 and ammo, and lastly three blocks of C-4 plastic explosives.

"Man, you're packing light tonight. Either you're going after a pussy or you're just going soft on me," Iceman laughed.

"Fuck you," Artie retorted as he handed his friend a wad of money, "and thanks for your help too. I'll have to pay you back for this sometime or another."

"Anytime bro, I'd sure as hell hate to be the poor bastard you're going after," the dealer replied climbing into his Patriot and taking off.

Now armed with some decent hardware, Artie's next task was to find himself a set of wheels and he looked around, grunting in frustration as he saw there weren't many people out for this time of night.

"Son of a bitch, somebody show up for Christ's sakes!" he grunted aloud and began running until he finally spotted a black and white '98 Phobos VT coming at him. With no time to waste, he stepped into the street and raised his Automag.

"Get out of the fucking car now!" he screamed.

The driver looked horrified and was about to stomp on the gas pedal, but Artie was quicker and fired a round through the windshield that tore apart the man's face and neck.

"Bastard," he spat running over and pulling the man's nearly headless corpse from the driver's seat, taking note of his now ruined black suit, stained by torrents of blood. _"Oh well, not the first time I've ridden around with someone else's blood on my seat," _he thought as he switched the For Hymn 87.1 Christian radio station over to Rock of Rushmore 89.5, which was playing "Foolin'" by Def Leppard.

Stepping on the gas he bolted over to Little Jamaica, a district dominated by nightclubs, record shops, sex shops, cheap clothing retailers, fish markets, sleazy hotels, Caribbean-themed restaurants, the Rasta 106.9 radio station, and a bunch of buildings with exteriors bearing green, yellow and black paint schemes after the Jamaican flag.

"Alright, where the fuck are you bastards?" Artie asked searching the side streets for any signs of movement, knowing the Yardies like to travel in packs.

Normally he would have asked for a lot more hardware to bring along, knowing how crazy the Yardies could be, but he also knew they carried a lot of ammo and would be ready to swipe up whatever he could from them.

He drove straight until he heard he ear-splitting rattle of numerous AK-47s being discharged simultaneously and took a right onto Ocho Rios Ave., where he could see several Yardie-owned Lobos and Huntley Sports parked around a tall, thin light green building, several henchmen surrounding them.

_"Wonder if Aunt Gracie's still alive," _he asked himself, having seen firsthand how merciless the often drugged up gangbangers could be.

He pulled into the alley next to a Bean Machine coffee shop and quietly got out, readying the FN P90 and began creeping his way towards the Yardie-owned vehicles to plant a booby trap.

"You gon' be sorry ol' granny when ya' be dealin' on da' Yardie turf without our permission!" one of the goons called out before firing a barrage at the hotel.

_"Sounds like she's still alive," _Artie thought as he approached the nearest Huntley Sport and placed a block of C-4 on its tailgate, carefully securing it to the SUV's rear bumper.

"C'mon out and we make this quick and easy, yah! We put chu' to sleep! Ya' don' have ta' make dis any worse than it have to be!" the same thug called out.

With the first block in place he crept over to a Lobo parked near Voodoo Vince's Deli that had its passenger side door opened, placing the block beneath the passenger's seat.

"We 'aven't got all night lady, you gonna be dyin' sooner or later! No denyin' the inevitable when ya' go against da Yardies!" the dreadlocked man shouted.

_"She may be an old bat, but as long as she's willing to pay I'm gonna help keep her around," _Artie told himself before placing the final block beneath a '92 Maibatsu Alpha parked in front of a 69 Cent store. Making his way back into the alley where the Phobos was parked and pulled out the detonator, pushing the button.

A chain reaction of explosions shook the entire street's foundation, swallowing up most of the Yardie vehicles along with most of the Caribbean gangsters themselves. Those who had somehow survived were firing away madly, believing they were surrounded.

"Showtime!" Artie boomed as he raised the FN P90 and stepped out into the street, firing away at one of the shooting Yardies.

"Get 'im!" he heard another thug calling out and took cover behind a '01 Bobcat pickup as they opened fire.

"Ain't nowhere to run Yankee boy!" the same thug called out.

Artie ducked low and fell onto his side, watching for the Yardie's feet as the gangster came running by. Aiming his gun beneath the truck, he fired a burst that took out both the man's shins, leaving him screaming on the ground unable to move.

A feral cry sounded from above and the hitman looked up to see a dreadlocked Yardie with a voodoo charm necklace leaping onto the hood of a parked Lobo with a machete in hand, literally frothing from the mouth as he stared upon his prey with bloodshot eyes. With another cry the madman leapt into the air.

Artie rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the machete swipe and fired a burst into the Yardie's arm, forcing him to drop the blade, yet the man offered no screams of pain. He went to fire another burst, but the submachine gun clicked empty and the man tackled him and tried to wrap his good hand around his neck.

The hitman stomped on the man's foot and head butted him in the nose, yet the drugged up gangster still pressed forth, offering animalistic noises as he snapped his teeth at him.

Artie again head butted the thug in his already broken nose and shoved him back into the open, where the man was riddled by a barrage of bullets from behind.

"Gonna be sorry!" another Yardie called out before throwing down his now emptied AK-47 and pulling out a Molotov cocktail and a lighter.

_"Somebody's gonna be sorry alright," _Artie thought to himself raising the Automag and firing several rounds which shredded the man's arm and shattered the glass, showering him and a nearby colleague in flames. He could only snicker as both men burned alive, screaming as they rolled around on the ground. _"Guess those fancy charms couldn't protect your sorry asses from that, huh?"_

Another Yardie attempted to avenge his fallen brothers, firing away with his AK-47 as he took cover behind a fruit stand. Artie saw the man's black fedora hat sticking out and aimed where he thought the man would be, shredding the fruits and showering the gangster with various juices before shooting the hat off the man's head. The thug was still alive and dove for cover behind one of the Huntley Sports, firing through its shattered window.

Needing a weapon with a greater range, the hired gun snagged an AK-47 off the closest deceased Yardie and wiped some blood away from its trigger and handle before returning fire, managing to graze the man's right arm, yet his opponent continued to fight. He waited for the man to run out of ammo before firing again and nailed him with a round through the shoulder, forcing him to drop his gun and send him staggering away, only to fall from a burst to his spinal column.

"Now to get the old hag outta here," Artie whispered as he climbed the stairs and made his way into the hotel's foyer, finding several patrons and workers lying dead in pools of their own blood, but luckily none of them were Aunt Gracie.

"Hey Aunt Gracie, are you in here?" he called out, hearing the whimpers of a frightened clerk and guest coming from behind the front desk. Hearing no reply he reloaded the FN P90 and kicked the door open of a nearby computer kiosk, yet finding nobody.

The hired gun continued down the side corridor, shoving a few unlocked doors open, yet no signs of the drug dealing granny. He went to round the nearest corner, only to find a gun pointed in his face.

"My oh my, aren't you such a sweet little boy, coming to help an old woman across the street," the diner proprietor cooed in her 'innocent' tone.

"Uh yeah sure, c'mon let's get you-" Artie was speaking until Aunt Gracie raised her gun and open fire.

The errand boy squeezed his eyes shut, only to open them when he heard a loud thud behind him and he turned around to find a machete-wielding Yardie lying on the carpeted floor with a round to the forehead.

"You should've kept your eyes open jackass!" the granny scolded, "Now c'mon, Granny needs her beauty sleep!" she said kicking the dead Yardie's he aside as she made her way towards the nearest exit.

Artie followed the old woman outside, where an untouched Lobo had been parked around the corner from the hotel. Running over to the vehicle, he climbed in and started the engine. Aunt Gracie followed suit, climbing in and right away switching the Rasta 106.9 station over to Symphony 104.1, currently in the middle of playing the "William Tell Overture."

"Take me back to my diner," she ordered.

"Sure thing," Artie replied, not even bothering to ask what she was doing over in this neck of the woods, lessening the risk of her turning into her bipolar bitchy self on him.

It was mercifully another uneventful ride back to Aunt Gracie's Corner Diner and he dropped her off out front, waiting for the old woman to return with an envelope.

"Alright dear boy, there is your payment for a job well done," she said handing him the envelope, "Now you have yourself a good night and make sure to brush your teeth before you go to bed."

"Sure, I won't forget," Artie replied unenthusiastically.

"You'd fucking better asshole, I don't wanna be near you again when it smells like a pig shit in your mouth!" the old lady hollered.

Artie only scoffed as he started down the street, "And I don't wanna fucking be near you when you're a crazy fucking bitch."

Author's Note: Well this was definitely a shorter chapter compared to some of my previous installments, but I am excited to write the next few entries as they will be original brand spanking new chapters. So as always, tune in until next time to see what kind of hijinks our beloved errand boy will find himself thrust into, oh and don't forget to read and review as well!

This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	23. Blown in 60 Seconds

Chapter 23: Blown in 60 Seconds

"Once again Arthur Cappelli, your ass has been owned by the almighty Iceman," the gun runner boasted as he and Artie stepped out of Stryker Lanes, him having just beaten his friend after three consecutive rounds of bowling. "When are you going to get it through your thick fucking skull that you can't beat me?"

Artie shook his head at his friend, "One of these days Iceman, one of these days you're gonna be the one getting your ass schooled. That's not a threat, it's a promise!"

Iceman laughed harshly at his friend's comeback, so caught up in their conversation he knocked over a trashcan, which had also been the result of him having one too many to drink.

"You gonna need a ride back home?" Artie asked as his friend stumbled over to his Patriot.

"Man I'm good to go, trust me I've made it back in one piece after having practically drank the entire bar away," the smuggler replied as he struggled to get his key in the slot to unlock his door.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Artie asked as he approached his newly-repainted Hakuchou, "I'll more than happily give you a ride back to your place."

"Bro, if there's one thing my pops taught me well it's drunk driving," Iceman shouted back as he finally slipped his key into the slot and turned it to open his door, "It's been fun man, we'll have to do this again sometime."

Artie watched passively as his friend started up his Patriot and sloppily made his way out of the bowling alley's parking lot.

"Crazy bastard," the errand boy muttered, just as his phone rang.

_"Who the fuck's calling me at this time of night?" _he asked himself as he looked down at the screen to see it was an unknown caller. He didn't know what possessed him, but Artie found himself looking around instinctively before pushing the button to answer, "Hello?"

_"Artie Cappelli, is that you?" _a voice called out from the other end.

The hitman breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized the man's voice, "Ratchet? What's going on?"

_"Okay good man, listen if you're not doing anything right now I need you to come over to my garage right away," _the mechanic explained.

"Umm okay, but what's going on?" Artie repeated his question from earlier.

_"Get your ass over here and I'll tell you everything you need to know," _Ratchet replied before hanging up.

"What the fuck was that all about?" Artie quietly asked before sliding the phone back into his pocket.

He was over in Lincoln Shore right now and knew Ratchet's garage was over in Horgate, which thankfully wasn't too far away. Taking a deep breath he started up the street bike and made his way onto the sparsely populated street, continuing forth until he came to a red light and looked over to his left to see a cop car parked and a man giving a statement to an officer. He noticed a blue and white '84 Imponte Phoenix nearby with its front end severely smashed up, which no doubt had to be the work of Iceman's Patriot.

_"Perhaps he's not as good at drunk driving as he thinks he is," _Artie thought with a shake of his head.

The drive over to Ratchet's garage wasn't much farther and within moments he was pulling up outside of the tan-colored building, where the only other vehicle present was a WMC Angel with an Irish flag painted on the side.

Artie made his way inside to find Ratchet standing near a pitch black '12 Vapid Bullet GT, in the middle of a conversation with a redheaded man who stood around 5' 10" with a matching mustache and goatee, who was wearing a black button up shirt with the sleeves removed and a ragged pair of old blue jeans that had been cutoff just above the shins and brown hiking boots, giving him a stereotypical country bumpkin look.

"Oh hey Artie," Ratchet called out taking notice of the arriving hitman and waving him over, "Artie, this here is my friend Boomer, he's gonna be helping us out tonight."

Boomer nodded to him and extended his hand, "Ratchet says you know how to get things done."

"Well he's only done one thing for me to tell you the truth, but it's my brother who's always saying he knows how to get things done," Ratchet jumped in.

"Okay, seriously what's going on here? And what do you mean he's going to be helping us out tonight?" Artie asked looking over to Boomer.

"Those trust fun asswipes the Gold Valley Preps are going to be hosting a street race tonight over on Jefferson Vale and from what I've been hearing around, Chase Van Winkle will be racing tonight, but we don't know in what kind of car it's gonna be," Ratchet explained.

"Wait, are you talking Van Winkle as in the oil tycoon?" Artie cut in.

"Yeah, Chase Van Winkle is the son of that rich greedy bastard Wilfred Van Winkle. That trust fund bitch has been causing a lot of trouble for some friends of mine and we've decided this is the perfect opportunity to strike at his punk ass," Ratchet answered.

"And just how do you expect to 'strike his punk ass?'" Artie asked looking over to the Bullet GT.

"Remember those cars I had you and my brother get a while back?" Ratchet asked.

"Yeah, I recall you saying they were for the Preps," Artie replied, "Does this have something to do with those cars?"

The mechanic nodded, "Rumor has it some of those cars are going to be involved in tonight's race and I had Boomer here rig the cars to blow. The catch, they will only blow when their engine reaches a high enough temperature. To do that, you're gonna have to get them to activate their nitrous. They do that and 'boom' bye, bye rich preppy bastard."

"I'm gonna ride along with you," Boomer spoke up, "These rich pukes have some pretty fragile egos. You taunt them enough, they'll get pissed and activate their nitrous. You can leave that up to me, you just focus on driving."

"Why don't you just drive then?" Artie asked the demolitions specialist.

"Because I'm not the greenhorn needing to prove himself," Boomer chuckled with a cocky grin.

Artie was going to make a smart reply, but then exhaled deeply, "Fine, I'll drive."

"Just don't fucking crash," Boomer said climbing into the passenger seat.

"Whatever," Artie replied climbing into the driver's seat as Ratchet pushed the button to raise the garage door.

"Alright, we need to get over to Gold Valley A.S.A.P." Boomer spoke looking towards the digital clock, "This race starts at midnight sharp," he said before switching on the radio to Rock of Rushmore 89.5, playing "Jukebox Hero" by Foreigner.

"So is there a backup plan in case this Van Winkle kid doesn't come alone?" Artie asked pulling up to a stoplight.

Boomer pulled out a .44 Remington magnum, "Look behind you."

Fitted into a rack behind the two men was a Marlin Model 1894 carbine, the hitman nearly scratching his head at the sight of the outdated gun behind them.

"That's all the backup we need if you ask me," the demolitions specialist replied.

"Right," Artie replied as the light turned green, wondering if such weapons would be able to do much if there were more Preps there than expected. He could only pray the man had an entire shit ton of ammunition on him for them heading into the belly of the beast like they were.

"So, you been doing the demolitions thing for long?" the hitman asked, attempting to make conversation with his passenger.

"Practically all my life," Boomer replied while checking his gun's sights for the umpteenth time and again pulled out a rag to polish it, as if he had O.C.D. or something. "I was in the Army for a few years doing demolitions, but then I decided they were fighting for a bullshit cause, so after I got out I served over in Ireland for a few years. I had relatives in the I.R.A. I was helping out, but then I came here when those dipshits in the Banditellis and High Ryderz were giving him trouble, haven't looked back since. I mostly do the freelance gig, but there are certain dipshits I won't work for, so you'd better prove you're worth my time," he spoke prominently displaying the large caliber gun for his driver.

"Hey, easy there cowboy, I'm not some backstabber. Believe me, I've encountered my fair share," Artie replied as some punks on street bikes sped past them.

"As long as you're not with the Banditellis you're alright in my book," Boomer replied.

"Sounds like you really hate those guys," Artie replied as he got onto the onramp over to Jefferson Vale.

"They've always been a bunch of fucking snakes. How do you think they became the only Mafia family in all of Rushmore?" the demolitions specialist replied.

"I'm afraid I'm not very familiar with the mob history around these parts," Artie replied, causing Boomer to stare at him wide-eyed in disbelief.

"You mean to tell me that you're a fucking guinea and yet you don't know about the mob history around these parts?" he asked Artie, who looked like he was ready to punch him out cold for the ethnic slur directed at him.

"Hey, just because I'm Italian doesn't mean I'm automatically affiliated with the nearest mob family, Mick!" the hired gun shot back.

Boomer glared sharply at him before continuing, "There used to be the Five Families here in Rushmore: the Torinis, the Ciampas, the Vallicellis, the Geddas and the Banditellis.

"The Banditellis used to be at the bottom of the barrel, until Vittorio Banditelli took over when his old man died. That old prick thinks he's the second coming of Julius Caesar. He convinced a lot of the lower-level gangs to help him out by exploiting their mistrust towards the other Families over the shit they had pulled on them in the past…including the O'Malleys, my family.

"I tell you, that old prick really had a way with his words. He was able to rile up all the gangs and bring them together to take down the other families piece by piece. Once he's got what he wants, he fucking kills the whole lot of them, including a whole bunch of my relatives. Heh, to think he's got my uncle working for him too, bribing him with all the money, broads and booze to his heart's content," Boomer grunted angrily.

"Wow, sounds like quite the prick," Artie replied, purposely neglecting to mention his encounters with Johnny Sneed, knowing it would only cause him to become angry as well.

"Heh, you don't even know the half of it," Boomer replied.

It wasn't much longer before the duo arrived in Gold Valley, another posh, upscale neighborhood lined with mansions that dwarfed those found in Salmon Ridge, some buildings looking like they could have their own freaking zip codes!

The duo continued forth until they found an area called Burgoyne Park, where a whole bunch of fancy sports cars had been parked in one large circle and figuring that was where they needed to be, they made their way over, parking just outside the circle.

Techno music blasted from within and the duo made their way inside, where several people were either admiring the swanky cars, drinking and engaging in conversations, dancing to the music, or hooting and hollering at the scantily-clad women who were grinding suggestively against each other, or rooting for the two guys who were duking it out near a garishly-colored Patriot.

As it was with his last time being around the area, Artie saw several young people walking around in mostly yellow jackets and hanging around four cars which he recognized from the shipment he had stolen for Ratchet a while back, one a Super GT, the Deimos SP, a Turismo and lastly a vintage '86 Cheetah, all of them now painted a gold and black color scheme.

_"That Van Winkle chump has to be around here somewhere," _Artie thought looking around, until his eye was caught by a jade-colored 500 XLR8 tuner sports car with an elaborate golden firebird design along the side, so entranced he was he bumped into someone without knowing it.

"Hey, watch it buddy!" a figure called out.

The individual was a man of Chinese descent who was around his age and stood approximately six feet tall with his short black hair shaved at the sides and spiked on top, deep black eyes, and looked to be in excellent physical condition. He wore a black tanktop tucked in, green, black and white colored racing pants, matching gloves and black boots, along with a gold chain from which an elaborate dragon medallion hung and a diamond-studded Crowex watch. There were several tattoos covering the man's arms, but the one that stood out the most was the one on his right arm, identifying him as a member of the Jade Feather Triad.

_"What the fuck is a Triad doing here?" _Artie asked himself as the man stared sharply at him.

"You fucking blind or something?" the man demanded getting in his face.

"No, but I will admit that is a sweet-looking ride you've got there," Artie replied. He probably could have easily handled the man if he kept pushing him, but for now he wanted to do anything he could to avoid a confrontation, not wanting to stick out like a sore thumb to the yellow-clad individuals present.

The man's gaze softened somewhat as he turned back to his car, "Guess you can't be too blind if you're able to admire such an exquisite work of art, but next time watch where the fuck you're going," the man replied, placing a hand over the holster on his belt, where a large dagger with a curved handle and a golden head carved in the image of a firebird's head rested, "or else next time I won't be nice enough to let you walk away in one piece."

Artie normally would have offered a smartass reply, but for now decided to avoid a fight and continued walking along past an azure-colored '92 Elegy outfitted with a spoiler and decorated in black flames designs outlined by orange.

"Hey, you can look, but you can't touch," spoke a busty blonde-haired woman with most of her hair covered by a red bandana, wearing a low cut blue top and denim cutoffs that barely covered her ample buttocks, yet she wore black combat-looking boots and the kind of gloves an M.M.A. fighter would wear, "And that applies to me too," she said pointing a thumb to herself before looking to a scrawny African-American in an orange and black basketball jersey and turned around baseball cap, cracking her knuckles threateningly towards him.

"Heh, for a couple of rich bitches, at least they provide good alcohol here," Boomer spoke up from behind, causing Artie to suddenly jump.

The demolitions specialist stood with a bottle of Brannigan's Irish Whiskey and was checking out the blonde Artie had just been talking to.

"Hey hillbilly!" a voice suddenly called out, "You, the country bumpkin and your guinea boyfriend!"

Artie and Boomer turned around to see a tall blond-haired man approaching them, wearing a yellow and black racing jacket and a matching headband and gloves.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you," he said motioning towards Boomer; "You're a little far away from the trailer park aren't you? Or here, let me put it to you in white trash: You be a little ways away from the double wide ain't cha'?" the man spoke in an exaggerated southern accent, arousing laughter from some of the other yellow-clad people.

"Yeah, don't you have a sister to molest right now?" another yellow-clad man shouted.

"He's a redneck, they fuck farm animals!" a third spoiled rich kid shouted.

Boomer growled at the insults being hurled in his direction and broke his whiskey bottle on a nearby stand, ready to use it as a weapon until Artie grabbed his shoulder to hold him back.

"That's right Guido; better keep your boyfriend on his leash, or your pet or whatever the fuck he is," the blond-haired Prep shouted, "He's definitely ugly enough to be the family pig."

"Keep talking city slicker, I have every nerve in my body to come and shove this broken bottle up your scrawny ass!" Boomer hissed through gritted teeth

"Wow, you mean to say you actually know something other than fucking farm animals? I'm impressed, then again I'm sure you probably don't know how to spell any of the words I've just spoken to you," the rich kid taunted.

"Little boy, you've sure got a lot of balls to be coming over here and flapping your gums like that," Artie cut in, feeling so annoyed he was ready to unleash Boomer upon him.

"Little boy?" the man asked, "Do you have any idea who you are talking to plebeian? I am Chase Van Winkle, heir to the Van Winkle fortune! My father _owns_ this city and soon I will!"

_"He's pretty much exactly the way I pictured him," _Artie thought looking the cocky young man up and down, _"Gives me even more incentive to shut his fucking mouth. Gonna be a sweet deal when that finally happens."_

"You are both new faces around these parts, but I shouldn't even bother to learn your names anyway. In the end, you're both gonna be walking away as the same nobody losers you are now!" Chase said laughing in both their faces before walking away.

"That fucking bastard, I'm so gonna be laughing my fucking ass off when I watch his punk ass blown to bits," Boomer hissed, punching his fist into his opened left palm.

"Don't worry, that little trust fund bitch is gonna get what he has coming to him," Artie said turning him around and the two of them walking back to the parked Bullet GT.

"I wouldn't be too scared of that prick if I were you," a woman's voice spoke up from behind and they turned to see the busty blonde reclining against the hood of her Elegy with her arms crossed.

"What do you mean?" Artie asked cautiously approaching her, knowing she wouldn't be afraid to try kicking his ass if he did anything out of line.

"That's Chase Van Winkle you're talking to there. The guy is a full blown horndog. Trust me, once he has sex on the brain he's gonna fuck things up big time. Chances are he's gonna be thinking about this and next thing you know, he's spinning out and crashing head on into a Tanker," the woman spoke, motioning to her athletic figure when she said 'this.'

"And how would you know that?" the hitman asked, understanding how the rich punk could be so turned on by her.

"Let's just say I've beaten his punk ass more than once," the woman laughed, "I've promised myself to him before and once I got alongside him and was flashing him a smile, he was as good as done. I promised him the best fuck of his life if he wins this race, poor bastard falls for it _every_ single time."

"Well thanks for the heads up," Artie said motioning towards her, "Miss?"

"Ferranti, Portia Ferranti," the woman smiled, "Guess I'll be seeing you at the finish line."

"Alright, it's time. Head on over to the corner of Hearst Blvd.," one of the Preps called out before jogging out of sight.

"Time for a little payback, don't you agree?" Artie smirked to Boomer.

"Goddamn right it is," the demolitions specialist nodded climbing into the sports car.

The hired gun started up the car and drove over to the corner of Hearst Blvd. where he would finally get a good look at the rest of his competition. There were the gold-colored cars belonging to the Preps, the Super GT, Deimos SP, Turismo and the vintage Cheetah, which belonged to Chase. In addition to them, there was Artie in his Bullet GT, the Chinese guy in his 500 XLR8, Portia in her Elegy and lastly, that black guy who tried checking out the attractive female street racer, who drove a black and orange '09 Resolution X tuner. Each of them revved their engines to get the crowd worked up, while Chase stood on the roof of his Cheetah, giving everybody the thumbs down before climbing back inside.

"Ready to ride, rookie?" a voice called out alongside Artie and he looked up to see the same guy who told the others to get ready.

"Damn right I am," Artie replied, gunning his engine in hopes of intimidating the guy.

"Alright, this is going to be a circuit race around Jefferson Vale, single lap. When the air horn goes off, you're gonna race through the gates," he said motioning towards two burning barrels on each street corner across from each other, "There are ten checkpoints altogether and we have people that will be watching to keep track of where you are. There are also signs posted all over to tell you where to go, you'd have to be blind to miss them. First one to make it back here wins, simple as that. Best of luck greenhorn, you're gonna need it," the man said before walking off to the next driver.

"Time to ride," Artie said turning the knob on the radio, needing to find some high energy music that would get him pumped up, settling on 94.3 CSKD, which was playing "Nothing Left" by As I Lay Dying, a song title fitting for what he and Boomer planned to do to those spoiled brats.

Up towards the front they watched as a shapely woman of Pacific Islander descent stepped into view with an air horn in hand.

"Everybody, get ready!" she called out raising the air horn, "On three! Three! Two! One! GO!" and with that final word she squeezed the horn, releasing a deafening shrill into the nighttime air.

Stomping on the gas pedal, Artie felt his body pulled backwards by the centrifugal force as he sped down the straightway and immediately passed the Resolution X positioned next to him, Portia just in front of them and swerving her car back and forth wildly to keep them from passing her.

"Sorry sweetheart, but this is war. Nothing personal," Artie muttered beneath the blaring music, _"Man if I was gay I'd have such an easier time not being distracted," _he thought as he managed to find a crack in the woman's defenses and pulled up alongside her. She honked her horn repeatedly at him trying to get his attention, but he had to do everything he could not to look, knowing she was probably going to try flashing her boobs at him, distract him in the same manner as she spoke of Chase.

"Later," he muttered to himself as he sped through the first checkpoint and was fast nipping at the heels of the 500 XLR8, a loud whoosh sounding as a blue haze was expelled from its exhaust pipes.

_"So you wanna play that game huh?" _Artie thought to himself as he reached over for a red switch near the radio, "Boomer, hold on for dear life!"

Artie depressed the switch and felt himself thrown backwards into the seat, clutching onto his steering wheel in a white knuckle grip, knowing it would be the end of him and his companion if he dared let go and again found himself nipping at the jade-colored car's heels as they blew through the second checkpoint and into the Salmon Ridge district, past the Galileo Observatory and past the Chinese man as his nitrous ran out and his car was gradually slowing down.

"Shit, hold on again!" the errand boy again shouted over to his passenger as they were coming to a sharp turn and he slammed the brake, forcing the car to fishtail into a violent power slide. The sports car would then fishtail into the opposite direction as another abrupt turn came up and then they were back onto a straightway.

The third checkpoint was coming up and the Deimos SP was dead ahead.

"Alright, we've got one of their boys in sight. Get ready Boomer!" he called over to his passenger.

The explosives expert nodded and rolled down his window, just as Artie was finally pulling alongside the car.

"Hey! Why don't you go back to the suburbs you prep school son of a bitch!" Boomer called out throwing a middle finger to the driver.

The driver clenched his jaw in anger and rammed into the Bullet GT's side as they came to another turn after hitting the third checkpoint, sending their car into the grass.

"Hey Artie, you know I'm not gonna be able to yell at this fucker if you've decided cutting grass is more important!" Boomer shouted.

"Just shut your fucking trap until we get closer to those bastards! Save your voice for them!" the hitman shouted back as he struggled to get the car back onto the pavement, just in time to see Chinese racer was catching up to them after they had narrowly edged him out before.

"C'mon, that chink's gaining on us!" Boomer shouted.

"What the fuck do you think I'm trying to do?" Artie called back as he finally regained control and was once again on the Deimos SP's ass, "Alright, get ready!"

Finding a narrow opening the hired gun again pulled up alongside the gold-colored sports car as Boomer again got into position.

"You're outta your league kid, go back home and suck on your mama's tit!" the explosives expert shouted.

The driver again tried to ram Artie, but this time he was prepared and maneuvered around the car, its driver now on their opposite side.

"You might as well give it up you dickless loser!" Boomer shouted throwing another middle finger towards the driver.

"We'll see who the joke is bitch!" the Prep called out reaching over to flick the switch for his nitrous, "See you at the finish line dickhead!"

A second later, the car burst into a ball of flame before it could reach the fourth checkpoint.

"One down," Boomer shouted to Artie, "Just keep on their fucking asses."

"You got it," the errand boy called back as "Collapse in Eternal Worth" by Goatwhore came over the radio.

The race was now taking the duo through the LaFollette district and with it, more traffic as he looked in his rearview mirror to see the Resolution X slam head on into a city bus and explode into a ball of flame in a similar manner to the Deimos SP.

"Alright, I can see the next prick at 12 o'clock!" Boomer shouted pointing straight ahead to the Super GT, "No, make that two of them!" he said as the Turismo came into view, "Killing two birds with one blow!" he laughed at his own joke as they sped through the fifth checkpoint and head on into the University district, past the sprawling Rushmore University campus.

The two high-performance sports cars took up both lanes of the street, almost like they were trying to protect their leader as they rounded another wide turn and ran a '98 Argento station wagon off the road, sending it rolling over the nearby incline.

"Locking in," Artie replied slamming down the gas and inching slowly towards the opposing racers as the Portia's Elegy and the Asian's 500 XLR8 weren't too far behind. For now he would focus on what he really came for, being the three bastards who still remained ahead of him.

"Alright, we're coming up on the sixth checkpoint. We gotta fuck these losers up before they reach the finish line," Boomer spoke up as Artie got closer.

"Well I'm getting close now; get your lazy ass into position!" Artie ordered as he was nearly touching the Turismo's fender.

"I thought we were racing against men, not boys!" Boomer shouted out the window, "You're going to fucking lose you worthless asshole!"

The Turismo's driver responded with a middle finger, to which Artie rammed the car hard, prompting the driver to draw a Beretta 93R.

"Motherfucker," Artie shouted, purposely slowing down as the Prep tried to fire upon him, a few of his bullets managing to strike the sport car's hood.

_"Dude, chill the fuck out. We already wasted enough bribing the cops to not interfere," _Chase called out to the driver over his Bloodtooth mobile headset.

"I don't like the looks of those shmoes in the Bullet GT," the Turismo's driver shouted back, "I think they're up to something!"

"You blind dipshit! You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn! You're nothing but a fucking joke you trust fund bitch!" the passenger of the Bullet GT shouted at him.

"Sorry, but that piece of shit is really getting under my nerves!" the driver called out to Chase.

"C'mon you fucking pussy! I thought you were done with the training wheels! You're outta your league boy!" the passenger again shouted.

"Fuck it, I'm turning on the NOS," the Turismo's driver reported to Chase and reached for the red switch near his radio, "See you at the finish line, chump!" the young man shouted before flipping the switch.

-and then the car exploded into a large fireball that nearly engulfed the Super GT.

"Ha ha! Two down, two to go!" Boomer shouted as they raced through Osborne Dale past the Margera Skate Park and nearly colliding with a small group of black-clad punks riding on black NRG-500 racing bikes.

It was at the very edge of the district they happened across the seventh checkpoints and made their way along the shoreline through Jefferson Beach, just as they were finally catching up to the Super GT.

"My blind grandmother drives better than your flaming punk ass!" Boomer shouted to the driver as Artie's Bullet GT brushed against its side. "C'mon you prep school bitch! Your daddy's money isn't here to save you now!"

"Boss, I'm not liking this!" the Super GT's driver shouted over his Bloodtooth headset to Chase, "Monty and Skip went to-" the man was explaining just as the Bullet GT rammed into his side, "-Monty and Skip were trying to turn on their NOS," the driver was again interrupted, this time by the loud grinding of metal on metal as the rival car brushed against his, ripping off his side view mirror, "-when their cars blew up!" he finished his sentence, shouting over the ear-splitting grinding.

"What's the matter bitch boy! That silver spoon shoved too far up your ass?" the Bullet GT's passenger shouted at him. "Gee, I didn't know your mother raised a fucking retard! Yo' mama's so stupid she climbed a glass wall just to see the other side! I bet she's so fat when she sat on a rainbow Spittles started popping out!"

"Yeah, and I bet she's so ugly your dad has to spray himself with mace before having sex with her!" the driver joined in.

"Yeah, she's so ugly you gotta tie a steak around her neck to get the dog to play with her!" the passenger called out.

The degrading comments about his mother proved to be the last straw and the driver punched at his radio, accidentally flipping the NOS switch and finding himself incinerated a second later, his flaming wreckage skidding across the eighth checkpoint.

"Fuck yeah; time to get the last bitch!" Boomer shouted over to Artie, who kept his pedal to the metal. By this point he had used up all of his nitrous and doubted he would have beaten the last racer had that been his objective, but he needed to do something as they made a sharp left into the Kirby district, something that would enable him to keep on the last Prep long enough to get him pissed off enough to literally 'blow his top.'

Fortunately for him, the Cheetah had taken the turn wider than expected, costing Chase valuable milliseconds and creating an opening for Artie to pull up right next to him to his left.

"Hey Preppy, Preppy, Preppy," Boomer called out to the spoiled rich kid, "What's the matter? Scared 'cause you're butler ain't here to fight your battles for you? Huh? Bet your daddy's gonna be pissed when he finds out he's passing his empire down to a pussy! You might as well cut off your dick and change your name to Christina!"

Chase growled in anger as the insults were hurled his way. There was no way he would ever allow such an uncouth peasant to defeat him in a street race, yet he remembered what Darren had been shouting to him before his car was blown up and then he looked over to the switch that would activate his nitrous, wondering if there could be any truth to his deceased comrade's suspicions. Something wasn't right and he had to wonder if that lowlife in the Bullet GT was somehow linked to it and he switched on his Bloodtooth headset.

"Lance, get the guys rounded up. Something's smelly fishy here and I think those bums are out to kill me. Set up near the finish line and prepare to give them a victory lap they wouldn't dare expect," the socialite ordered as he purposely slowed the car down as he neared the ninth checkpoint.

Artie looked over to find Boomer readying his .44 Remington, "What the fuck are you doing man?"

"That trust fund bitch isn't falling for it. He must be onto us," the demolitions specialist replied, "Gotta be ready for a fight," he spoke as Artie moved into the lead and the Cheetah was now tailing them, fighting to keep its second place spot in front of the Chinaman's tuner.

The Bullet GT raced down another long straightway and a sign told them they were getting closer to Burgoyne Park. Heeding his friend's warning and risking his own physical well-being in the process, the hired gun reached down for his CZ-75 with his right hand and placed it into his lap, a decision that would save his life.

"Shit man, you weren't kidding around!" Artie shouted as the finish line came into view, along with several gold-colored cars positioned in front of it and several Preps who were waiting with shotguns and submachine guns raised.

"Oh fucking shit!" the hired gun cried out, slamming down on his brake and twisting the whole car violently, in time for its back end to be riddled with gunfire.

"We've gotta get the fuck outta here!" Artie shouted, just as Chase attacked them from the front, pulling out a TEC-9 machine pistol and rattling the hood, a few of his bullets traveling towards the windshield and forcing both men to duck down.

"Kill those white trash freaks!" the socialite shouted to his friends as the two other remaining racers found themselves caught in the crossfire and forced to defend themselves.

Boomer stuck his upper body out the window and fired several rounds towards the Cheetah, all but one of his rounds missing before he was forced to reload.

Artie raised the CZ-75 and tried to fire, but a gold Banshee obstructed his view of Chase's Cheetah and its passenger was aiming an Uzi at him, forcing him to shift the car into reverse so he could avoid the oncoming barrage.

Unfortunately for them, there was a Turismo there to block their escape as they backed into it, followed by a Banshee clipping the front end of the passenger's side and sending large shards of glass raining down upon Boomer, who did what he could to shrug the pain away and fired into the attacking sports car, killing both the driver and passenger.

Before Artie could lend assistance to his companion, his door was pulled open behind him and he was being yanked from his seat.

"Time to die with the rest of your inferior breed!" a Prep shouted driving his fist into the hired gun's face and throwing him to the pavement as gunfire filled the air above him. "I'm gonna stomp you in the way I do the rest of your kind…like dog shit!" the man screamed driving his boots repeatedly into the fallen Artie.

The errand boy tried to grab the gang member's ankle, only to find himself pistol whipped by the butt of the man's gun.

"Don't worry whelp, I'm doing this world a favor by getting rid of you," the man spat training his gun on Artie's face, but would fall a second later as a flurry of rounds tore through his chest.

Artie rolled onto his side to see Portia was the shooter who had inadvertently saved his life, equipped with a Steyr TMP, while the Triad returned fire with a Chinese-manufactured Chang Feng submachine gun. He doubted they were really trying to save his ass, but more so looking out for their own as the Preps were firing upon anything else that moved.

"Go back to China with the rest of your kind you filthy chink!" a Prep shouted at the Triad.

"Take the woman alive, she owes me a fuck!" Chase called out to his men.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Artie whispered raising the CZ-75 and firing a barrage, taking out one of the Preps and grazing the socialite's arm.

"You'll pay for that you filthy rat! Nobody makes Chase Van Winkle bleed! Nobody!" the rich punk shouted before returning fire upon Artie and one of his rounds caught the hired gun in the arm.

Artie grunted as the searing metal penetrated his flesh and he felt the warm blood traveling down his arm. Hell, he could feel more of the crimson fluid traveling down his temple after being pistol-whipped by that Prep. None of that mattered now as he needed to get the hell out of there.

He looked over to see Boomer taking cover behind one of the shot up Turismos with the Marlin in hand, dropping one Prep with a shot to the heart and wounding another with a round to the thigh.

"Go back to washing each other in the communal shower you prep school bitches!" the explosives expert shouted before a bullet grazed his bare arm and then another round caught him in the side.

"Boomer," Artie called out, raising his CZ-75 with his good arm to take down another Prep converging upon the wounded man and then sliding across the car's hood and landing at his side.

"Don't worry about me; I ain't got time to bleed," the explosives expert replied before raising the Marlin and dropping another Prep with a pot shot through his left eye socket.

"We've gotta get the fuck outta here," Artie shouted to him, fresh spasms of pain shooting through his arm.

"Hold on, gotta do one more thing first," Boomer said pulling out a remote and pushing the red button, causing the Bullet GT to explode and take out two more Preps with it.

"What the fuck man? Why didn't you tell me there was a fucking bomb in the car?" Artie shouted, firing off a few rounds as they retreated into a nearby alley.

"Because you probably would've pussied out on me, I couldn't take the chance," Boomer shouted back as they made their way through the alley, Artie lending a shoulder to support the wounded man when he stumbled.

"I'll kick your ass for that later, right now we need to find ourselves some wheels and get to someplace other than here," Artie shouted over the pops still going on in the background.

"Take me to Gilmore, over in Roosevelt Hills. I know a guy there who can patch us up, owes me a favor from a while back," Boomer added.

The duo eventually found their way to a high-rise apartment complex with several cars parked in its lot. Knowing they would need a fast car, Artie was about to make his way over to a nearby Serrano, when Boomer stopped him and pointed to another car, accidentally grabbing his bad arm as he did.

"Take that one over there!" Boomer hissed pointing to a bright red '08 Invetero Coquette, "Ratchet requested one of those! He'll pay us money if we keep it in good condition and we can split it afterward!"

"Fine," Artie hissed through gritted teeth and shook his arm free, making his way over to the sports car and smashing the window open with his good elbow, climbing inside and pushing a button to unlock all the doors and let Boomer climb in as he started hotwiring it. Within seconds the car was roaring with life, "Tooth and Nail" by Dokken blasting over the radio, which," the explosives expert didn't seem to mind.

"Alright, fucking drive man. I don't wanna get too much blood all over the interior if Ratchet's gonna be paying us," he spoke through gritted teeth.

"You sure this guy can help us?" Artie asked as he made his way onto the nearest street and searched for the nearest back road he could take without having to risk being caught up in the shootout all over again.

"He's done work for me before; he really knows what he's doing. I'd recommend him to anybody," Boomer replied, spitting out the last sentence as a fresh wave of pain shot through his side, "Gah, fucking watch with the sharp turns!" he scolded.

"Well I've gotta fucking do what I can so you don't bleed out on the way over," Artie snapped before resuming his line of questions, "So if this guy's supposed to be so good, then why the hell is he stuck operating some backroom black market B.S. out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Let's just say the guy might not look like it, but he's got quite the temper…especially after he's had a bit too much to drink," Boomer replied as an ambulance raced past them, "Lost his license after he fucked up some guy who wasn't satisfied with a procedure and not only fucked him up, but half the staff in the operating room and the guy's invalid mother."

"Boy, you sure know how to make a guy feel swell," Artie replied sarcastically, "Makes me eager to have the asshole get pissed when the Juggernauts fuck up on a play and then cut me open like he's fucking Jack the Ripper!"

"Well the guy doesn't ask questions either. I'll leave it at that," Boomer replied reclining painfully in his seat, "Plus he seems to have a way with words when the fuzz come knocking on his door. Don't ask me how, but all I know is nobody has ever gotten busted after going to his house."

"Well if I wake up missing something it's gonna be all your fault, just letting you know ahead of time," Artie replied as he pulled onto the onramp leading to Roosevelt Hills. He was never one to trust back alley doctors, especially one who had a temper and a drinking problem on top of it, but for now all he knew was this man could supposedly help them out and for now, he would give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Whatever, just quit your bitching," Boomer replied before another sharp pain shot through his side before looking over to him, "If anything, you say you're here to see Der Chirurg."

"What?" Artie asked looking towards him wide-eyed.

"It means 'the Surgeon' in German. He lives at 7861…Heineken Drive…" the demolitionist weakly gurgled.

"Hey, don't you fucking pass out on me!" Artie said giving him a hard punch to the shoulder before he sped up to pass a Secsi-owned Benson.

"Hey…why is the sky trying to race us?" Boomer asked staring at delivery truck.

_"Shit, he's lost a lot of blood. I gotta stop fucking around," _Artie thought to himself as he stomped the gas and raced down the highway, cutting off a farmer out for a late night joyride on his tractor and past a Ranger parked behind a Cluckin' Bell billboard, where thankfully the officer inside was fast asleep in gross negligence of his official duties.

Artie continued his race forward until he saw a large sign indicating he was near Gilmore and he only slowed down upon taking a right turn into the sleepy town, its streets bare for this time of night.

"Alright, where the fuck is Heineken Drive?" he asked aloud passing a series of closed down stores, including an Ammu-Nation, a Burger Shot, Pay n' Spray, A Cut Above the Rest barber shop, and a Hoggystyle motorcycle dealership before coming to a street sign and taking a right into an area lined with small nondescript houses before he eventually came to a side-gabled bungalow with a black and green '92 Bravado Tampa parked in its driveway.

"Okay, this must be the place," Artie said to himself looking over and seeing a mailbox with the name _'Schwarz'_ on the side. Quickly climbing out, he ran over to the passenger's side and helped Boomer out, lending a shoulder to help him over to the house's front door. The hired gun noticed an intercom system and pushed the button.

_"Who dares to disturb my beauty sleep? Can you not tell that it is 3 in the morning?" _called out thick German-accented voice.

Clearing his throat Artie spoke, "I am here to see Der Chirurg," he replied, remembering what Boomer had instructed him to say.

_"Just a minute," _the voice replied, suddenly calming down as a light came on in the foyer followed by an electronic buzzing noise, _"Okay, come in."_

Artie entered the house, only to find a German-made HK416 pointed in his face.

"Oh, sorry about that," the gun's owner spoke, a German man with thinning gray hair and a beard and mustache that were slowly catching up, wearing thick glasses and a dark blue robe.

"Sorry to bother you, but my friend and I have been shot and he says you could help," Artie said motioning towards the weakly explosives expert.

"Ah yes, Boomer!" the man said recognizing the redheaded man and coming over to help the hired gun keep him upright. "Come with me."

The doctor led them down to his basement, where somehow he had managed to procure professional equipment from the outside world and within minutes both men were resting on hospital beds and sedated.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_** Several Hours Later **_

Artie slowly stirred awake as the anesthesia wore off, looking over to find fresh bandages on his arm and a few other places on his body. He was still a little woozy from the painkillers, but other than that he was feeling alright.

_"A Mafia doctor who actually knows what the hell he's doing…that's new to me," _Artie thought as he heard Boomer's voice coming from outside.

"I'm afraid not. The son of a bitch got away," the demolitions expert said to an unseen individual. It wasn't until he walked past the open door Artie could see the phone in his hand and assumed he must have been talking to Ratchet.

"Yeah, I know we fucked up, but trust me there will be another time to get him back. Next time we need to do it when we know none of his billionaire butt buddies will be around," Boomer spoke before listening for a few moments, "Yeah, I'll talk to you later buddy."

The explosives expert walked into the makeshift operating room clad in nothing but his boxers, setting his phone down on a nearby tray and reaching down for his clothes.

"Wait, where are you going?" Dr. Schwarz called out, "You still need time to rest!"

"After what we did Ludwig, I doubt we're gonna have much time to rest," Boomer replied reaching down for his cutoff jeans and pulling them on, trying to ignore the fresh stings of pain wracking through his body.

"Please, I'm begging you! You're going to need to rest for a few days!" the surgeon pleaded, trying to block the doorway.

"I'll rest later!" Boomer snapped, "Trust me pal, I've survived worse. Now either get out of my way or I'm gonna be shoving one of my homemade bombs up your ass!" he threatened while buttoning the last button of his sleeveless shirt. He then turned his attention to Artie, "Think you can move?"

"I'll try," Artie said sitting up in his bed. He wasn't as badly wounded as the explosives expert and slowly made his way over to his clothes.

"I do not like this. You really should be resting or else those Preps or whoever the hell you just went up against will be able to kill you just as easily," Dr. Schwarz replied with a sigh of defeat.

"Gee, thanks Mom," Boomer sarcastically spat as he waited for Artie to finish getting dressed, "Thanks for your help though, we would've been goners if it weren't for you."

"It has been my pleasure," the doctor spoke uneasily while turning his attention to Artie, "You a free to come here any time in the future you require my assistance."

"Thanks Doc, I will," the hired gun said carefully pulling on his shirt and making his way outside.

"You'd better drive, I'm still sore," Boomer said walking over to the Coquette and climbing into the passenger seat, "Take me over to my place in Fisher Creek and then after that, take this car over to Ratchet's."

"Sure thing," Artie said climbing into the driver's seat and starting up, deciding to the turn radio off and let his companion be able to rest peacefully on the way back home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: This chapter actually turned out to be easier for me to write than I expected, given that this was inspired by a racing mission and I typically HATE racing missions. This might be the last racing-related chapter in this story, who knows.

Now onto the random notes:

Boomer is physically inspired by Norman Reedus, the guy who played Murphy McManus in "The Boondock Saints" and currently playing Daryl Dixon in "The Walking Dead." To an extent he is also inspired by the McReary Brothers, having served time in the I.R.A. similar to Derrick and having explosives expertise inspired by Packie. I was excited to introduce him because I think there are some people here who might know whom I'm talking about right away.

Chase Van Winkle is inspired by Travis Van Winkle, the guy who played Trent in the first "Transformers" movie and later in the "Friday the 13th" remake. This character is also inspired by Hoyt Ambrose, a character Van Winkle played in the movie "Accepted," who himself was a rich trust fund snob.

The Chinese guy in this chapter is named Danny Chen and he was physically inspired by Zero Kazama, the host of MTV's "Silent Library," who also made a guest appearance on "Deadliest Warrior" for the Mafia vs. Yakuza episode.

Portia Ferranti is physically inspired by porn star Krissy Lynn. Her first name is obviously inspired by the Porsche car and her last name I picked because it was close to Ferrari.

Dr. Ludwig Schwarz a.k.a. Der Chirurg is supposed to be physically inspired by Stanley Tucci's portrayal of Dr. Abraham Erskine in "Captain America: The First Avenger." I figured I would introduce a mob doctor as a means of giving Artie an easier way to avoid the fuzz at the hospital. When I describe him as "having a way with words" when dealing with the cops, that right there could be my way of breaking the 4th wall as a means of explaining how GTA protagonists can enter a building while being pursued by practically the entire city police force, but then once they come out everybody is suddenly gone.

Brannigan's Irish Whiskey is a spoof of Jameson Irish Whiskey, Bloodtooth is a spoof of Bluetooth, and Spittles is a spoof of Skittles.

The line where Boomer says "I ain't got time to bleed" was inspired by the infamous line uttered by Jesse Ventura in "Predator."

Dr. Schwarz's address is inspired by the Beneath the Sky song "7861," a badass song I like.

Well I think that's everything for the time being so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	24. The Shit Hits More Than the Fan

Author's Note: Once again I apologize for the delay to my regular viewers as I have been wrapped up in my other projects, but alas I make my return. I would say 'glorious,' but that's probably stretching things, as long as it doesn't result in an impatient mob of people storming my house with torches and pitchforks.

So yeah, Afro Spirit, Native Gunz, SlayerDarth, blondebabe800, and anybody else who follows my story but is too good to post a review…yes I am still here!

Anyways, now that I've gotten that out of the way it is on with the story!

Chapter 24: The Shit Hits More Than the Fan

Another work day with Freeman Cabs was over and Artie emerged from the University Cyber-Ing internet café, which thankfully had gone by without incident. It had been four days since he and Boomer ran that errand for Ratchet and thankfully they had gone by quietly.

The errand boy yawned loudly before tossing his emptied coffee cup into a nearby trashcan and rounded the building towards the parking lot where his cab waited.

_"Maybe I'll take another trip to Silver's," _he thought to himself, his ass feeling sore from all the sitting he did in the cab and then at the workstation afterward. He needed some form of movement and needed to rebuild his strength after his recent injuries. If he couldn't lift weights he could at least run on a treadmill or ride a bike, do something to burn off all the pent up energy.

Artie pulled out his key and slid it into the slot and unlocked the door, but before he could climb in he suddenly heard a metallic rattle coming from behind him and he whirled around with his CZ-75 raised.

A trashcan with a pair of human legs sticking out came rolling down the hill towards him, coming to a crashing halt when it struck a nearby bike rack.

"Ow…I so hate my life…" a familiar whiny voice came from within.

"Randy?" Artie asked running over and grabbing his friend by the ankles to pull him out of the metal canister, "We've so gotta stop finding each other like this," he muttered to himself.

The former Cluckin' Bell cashier was covered from his head to his torso in trash, the smell of rotten fruit and expired liquids forcing the hired gun to quickly plug his nose.

"Randy, what the hell happened now?" Artie asked, feeling his eyes water at the rancid stench.

"What the hell does it look like? I just got shoved into a trashcan and rolled down a hill," the younger man groaned, rubbing his lower back and side following his rough stop.

"Uh yeah, I could see that much already, but who did this to you?" Artie asked, nearly recoiling as a used condom fell from the top of Randy's head.

"Donovan Doyle Darlington IV…" the former cashier replied before coughing up a ball of God knows what, "…some preppy rich bastard…thinks he's better than everybody else. I was in the park reading one of my self-help books, just minding my own business, when that bastard rolls up in his fancy schmancy F620 like he's on top of the fucking world and is going on how soon he's going to be running this city, yadda yadda yadda and all that other crap," Randy said making mouth flapping gestures with his hands as he tried explaining everything, "and just a whole bunch of other shit in general."

"So what did you do to piss him off?" Artie asked offering him a handkerchief to wipe his face off.

"I stood up to him," Randy muttered, almost sounding embarrassed.

Artie blinked his eyes repeatedly in disbelief, "Wait, you seriously mean to tell me that you actually stood up to somebody?" he asked, unable to believe a timid loser like Randy Spitz would be capable of standing up to another human being, let alone a rich kid of all people.

"Well yeah…" the wimpy man said looking to the pavement and kicking aside an empty container of Cherry Popper ice cream, "…I pretended as if I were you."

Artie laughed loudly at the smaller man's response, again forced to ask whether this kid was brave or just plain stupid.

"You're fucking kidding me, right? Please tell me you are!" the hired gun replied.

"No…" Randy replied, looking away in embarrassment, "…I just thought to myself 'What would Artie do in a case like this?' and I told him to take his silver spoon and shove it up his ass."

"And look at where it got you," Artie said motioning towards him, "Stuck in a trashcan with more used condoms in your hair!"

Randy's eyes widened and he began swatting away wildly at his matted down hair, "Gah! Get it off! Get it off!" he hollered thrashing his hands as if he were surrounded by a swarm of bees, "Don't just stand there man! Help me get them off!"

"Hell no, I'm not touching any of those with a sixty foot pole," Artie said recoiling as one of the aforementioned condoms hit the tarmac with a splat.

"Gah! Damn it! My suffering never ends…" Randy whined and could feel his breathing quicken, but suddenly began taking a bunch of deep breaths to calm himself down, "…no Randy, you're not suffering…You're on a beach in Vice City and you're surrounded by lots of beautiful women…and then the cast of 'The Great Explosion Concept' shows up and offers you a guest appearance…and then Patriot Man, Cyber Dude, Flea Man and the Brown Streak all show up to play Blackjack with you at some casino in Las Venturas, all the while eating a nice warm pizza from Little Caligula's…yes Randy, you're just fine…you're just fine…you're just fine…" he repeated, his voice cracking the third time and he shot his eyes open, "Gah! It's not working!"

Artie could only shake his head as the ex-cashier searched frantically for a paper bag to breathe into, finding one sitting on a nearby bench, only to recoil in horror when he found a dead crow inside, "Gah! I'm getting fucked over by God himself! Why God? What did I ever do to piss you off so bad?" he screamed to the sky.

"Randy, pull yourself together!" the hired gun said going over and grabbing him by the shoulders, only to step back when he felt something sticky on his friend's right shoulder, "Randy, you need to settle the fuck down at once! Okay man, I'm sorry to yell at you, but you need to think when you find yourself in situations like this, not just rush in head on like you're Jack Howitzer or Buck Morris."

"How could I think? He had me cornered and was probably going to try kicking my ass either way, that's how it always goes with me," Randy sighed before picking off an old piece of pizza that clung to his back.

"C'mon, I'll take you back to the bar so you can get cleaned up," Artie said motioning for the cab.

"No way man, I can't just go back there after what that smug bastard did to me," Randy suddenly spoke up, inviting another suspicious stare from the hitman.

"What the hell do you mean? Since when did you grow a backbone? Normally you're the first person hiding in the corner shitting your pants at the first sign of danger," Artie replied.

"I don't know…I just know that we can't let what he did slide…if you get what I'm trying to say that is," Randy nervously replied, dusting some chunks off his shirt that left him shuddering a second later.

"And just what do you suggest we do? Obviously you're not some black belt who can go to this guy's house and start throwing out tornado kicks left and right," Artie said reclining against his cab.

"Well, there probably is something we can do without any up close, in your face action," Randy replied pacing back and forth before suddenly snapping his fingers, "I've got it!"

"Now this I've gotta hear," Artie replied sarcastically crossing his arms across his chest.

"I remember hearing him chatting on the phone with somebody before he got out of his car; yeah he had his window rolled down!" Randy said, his pacing becoming more manic as he could feel everything coming back to him, "He was saying something about a party…yeah, a pool party! He said he was going to have a bunch of people over, a bunch of those rich asswipes he hangs out with…they're all going to be in the same place at once!"

"And just what do you have planned? Going over and putting laxatives in their Gay Pisson?" Artie chuckled mockingly, earning another finger snap from Randy.

"Something involving shit alright!" he called out excitedly.

"Ugh, should I have even bothered to mention that?" Artie replied.

Randy ignored his friend's question, entrenched in the idea forming inside his head, becoming more spastic by the second, "There is a way we can do that, yes! We're going to steal a Wastehauler from the waste management plant over in Roosevelt Hills, and then we're gonna drive it over to that smug bastard's place and spray them down! I tell you, they'll literally be shit faced when we're done with them! Oh yeah, it's gonna be grand I tell you Artie! So epically grand!"

"Yeah, whatever!" Artie snapped, trying to avoid being touched by the smelly nerd, "And what do you mean by 'we're?' You're the one who's got the beef with this guy; shouldn't it be up to you to deal with him?"

"Well, you just said I shouldn't rush into situations without thinking, right?" Randy replied, "Well right now I'm thinking. Obviously, the probability of me being able to drive a truck larger than what I'm used to would come back to haunt me in the end, that plus I doubt I'd be able to drive the truck and spray them at the same time. It would be a two man job, therefore I will need another man and since you're here right now, you can be that other man. Seriously, you told me to think things through, well now I am!"

Artie sighed in defeat, "Well I guess you've got me backed into a corner on this one and if it isn't your 'superior logical abilities' that can do that, it sure is that rancid stench of yours alone," he replied as the slushy remnants of a burrito fell from Randy's shorts, almost making him look as if he were taking a shit.

"Hell yeah! You're the best Artie! I promise, I'll pay you more this time around if you can help me get some well-deserved payback on those rich fucks!" Randy hooted, bouncing into the air repeatedly. "That rich prick's not gonna know what hit him…well actually he will in this case, but you get the idea! Now come along noble sidekick, we have work to do!"

"Noble what?" Artie asked shaking his head as the nerd climbed into the cab's backseat, _"About the smartest thing he's done thus far," _he thought to himself as he climbed in and slid the privacy window shut to block out the rancid odor before switching on the radio Rewind FM, currently playing "Hazy Shade of Winter" by The Bangles.

"Uh…and while we're at it, can we stop by Beaver's? I sort of threw up my lunch when I was rolling down that hill and now I'm hungry again!" Randy called out from the backseat.

"Hey, do you want your revenge against this rich preppy bastard or not? Your meal will have to wait!" Artie barked back as he charged through a red light, the rancid fragrance emanating from the filthy nerd somehow getting to him through the closed privacy window and wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, meaning it would be the faster he could get him home to get him cleaned up.

The hitman looked over to his left to see his window was opened just a crack and so was Randy's behind him. Seeing this he reached over to the nearby console to raise his friend's window.

"Hey, I'm hot back here!" Randy bellowed, this day having been warmer than expected. The issue was compounded by the cab's air conditioner not working, leaving the hitman feeling more on edge since he had climbed back into a virtual sauna.

"So am I, but you don't see me bitching," Artie retorted taking a left hand turn, "Now just quit your bitching and let me drive."

"Well you'd be in a bitchy mood too if you were just shoved into a trashcan and rolled down a hill," Randy replied crossing his arms.

"I guess you do have a point there, but it still gives you no right to get on my nerves. You keep that shit up and I'm gonna be the one shoving you down a hill, and you _won't_ be alive when I'm done with you," Artie growled, his voice lowering into a threatening boom and his eyes narrowing as he looked at the ex-cashier in his rearview mirror, the younger man beginning to visibly quake as he approached the onramp leading to Roosevelt Hills.

As always, it was as if he were entering a whole new world as the hired gun made his way into the mostly rural land, speeding his way past a Walton hauling a trailer full of cattle and then past some redneck biker bar called 'Riding Bitch,' where more of those Whiteskins could be seen beating down on some other random schmuck.

_"Once again those lifeless losers have nothing better to do," _the hitman thought as he crossed a suspension bridge and soon happened across a sign telling him the Rushmore Waste Management Facility would soon be within reach.

"Okay, I think we're definitely getting closer…I can smell it," Randy squeaked from the backseat.

"Are you sure that's not just your own shit-stained clothing you're smelling back there?" Artie replied.

"No seriously, it's like the smell has been amplified by a million…" Randy said, stopping as he realized he had just picked on himself with that comment.

"At least you come by it honestly," Artie chuckled, leaving his companion to scramble through his mind for some kind of witty comeback, yet coming up with dead air as the waste management facility finally came into view, "Looks like we're finally here."

"Oh yes, now those rich bastards are finally going to know what it feels like to be shit on…and in a very literal sense!" Randy giggled as they drew closer to the front gates.

_"Okay, should I really be looking forward to this?" _Artie asked as he hastily parked the cab outside the gates and spotted a Wastehauler like Randy had mentioned, an overweight man in a heavily sweat-stained wife beater relaxing on a nearby bench with a Playhouse magazine in one hand and a beer in the other. The man quickly looked up when he saw the duo approaching.

"Hey! Only authorized employees are allowed beyond this point!" the man barked.

"So now you finally start to do your job, eh tubby?" Artie taunted, "Boy, no wonder this whole city always smells like shit!"

The fat man threw down his magazine and drink to charge after the hitman, only to be cut down by a round to the chest.

"Gah! Was that really necessary?" Randy screamed to his friend.

"Just shut up and get in!" Artie shouted back, climbing the short flight of steps and pulling himself into the driver's seat, nearly gagging as he took in the interior, stinking worse than the driver. He switched the truck on, its station set to the Beatbox 102 station, playing "Cool" by Suga Free, slamming the gas pedal down as soon as Randy had climbed in.

"Jeez, will you watch how you drive?" Randy yelped.

"Hey, do you want your fucking revenge on the snobby rich bastard or not? Jeez, keep your fucking mouth shut and tell me where this prick lives," Artie shouted back as he made his way out of the compound and onto the main road leading out of Roosevelt Hills.

"He lives over in Pinecone Grove, knowing him it shouldn't be too hard to miss," Randy replied as Artie approached the off ramp that would take him back to Jefferson Vale.

"Pinecone Grove it is," the hired gun nodded switching the station over to Old School 97.3, playing "Insane in the Brain" by Cypress Hill, and shoving his way onto the ramp, ramming a Feltzer hard and sending it tumbling over the concrete barrier and into the water below.

"Will you watch the road please? I really don't feel like having any innocent blood spilled for once in my lifetime," Randy groaned.

Artie ignored his friend and made his way through another intersection, earning a plethora of horns, curses and middle fingers, leaving Randy to blurt out apologies to people who likely weren't able to hear him as the hitman sped down the street.

He had become more familiarized with the island through his work with Freeman Cabs and within moments was on the main street leading into Pinecone Grove, past a group of rich folks out on their daily power walks and past a wine tasting event taking place on an ivory mansion's front lawn, the partygoers crinkling their noses at the rancid odor emitted by the passing truck.

"Alright, keep your eyes peeled. You're gonna have to tell me where this rich shithead lives," Artie spoke, chuckling at his little pun towards the end.

"He's not far," Randy replied as they pulled up alongside some ditzy blonde behind the wheel of a pink Feltzer who was yammering away on her cell phone and had a Yorkshire Terrier resting in her lap.

"Eww gross! Don't you peasants like totally have somewhere else to be? I mean, that stench is like so disguising all that expensive body oil I rubbed all over me this morning!" the young lady shouted.

"Don't even pay any attention to her," Artie said placing a hand on his friend's shoulder and continuing through the intersection, ramming head on into a parked royal blue Oracle in the hopes of cheering up his friend, knowing its owner would likely have a heart attack at the sight of its 'baby' reduced to scrap.

Artie continued down the street until Randy called out.

"Over there!" he said gesturing towards a tan-colored estate that looked to be roughly the width of the city's main shopping mall over on Washington Dell, several expensive-looking sports cars and limousines parked out front and the thumping bass of speakers turned up to the max. If there was another thing Artie had learned from his time in Rushmore, it's that the rich people of this city made no effort to hide it when they were hosting an upscale event.

"Time to rock n' roll," Artie said slamming on the gas pedal.

"Wait, we need some proper music for this occasion before you go in guns blazing, or hoses blazing in this case," Randy said reaching for the radio and turning it to Symphony 104.1, which was now playing Beethoven's "Symphony No. 9" (Better known as "Ode to Joy").

"Into battle we go fellow crusader!" Randy shouted mightily pointing forward as if he were mounted on a mighty steed and ready to charge towards an amassed horde of barbarians on the early morning hillside.

"Sure thing," Artie unenthusiastically snorted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"This is sure quite the party you've got going on here Donovan," porn producer Rod Cummins remarked sipping from a martini, temporarily diverting his gaze as some barely legal bikini clad beauties strode past.

"What can I say, I am a Darlington. Anything less would be unacceptable," Donovan Doyle Darlington IV replied in his posh accent as an animal handler led a genuine African elephant past them, "No matter what the Van Winkles may say, it was the esteemed Darlington Family who had the earliest roots planted in this area and it was my family, not theirs, who transformed a middle of nowhere cow pasture into the glistening jewel of the American Midwest. Back then, they were still cleaning up after those most boorish beasts while we were drawing in the settlers from the adjoining villages."

In addition to the live elephant being present, a stage had been set up where the rap artist Chihuahua was performing his hit single "I Fucked a Bitch of Every Ethnicity Last Night" while several scantily-clad women danced in the background. There were also miniature battleships armed with paintballs shooting back and forth in the massive swimming pool, waitresses walking around dressed like ancient Roman gladiators and even an animatronic shark that was a direct replica of the 'Bite' ride down at InterGlobal Studios in Vice City.

"Indeed they have, plus your dear father and his father before him were always good for providing me with new up-and-coming talent for my many productions," the short, sleazy man said eying up a waitress who was bending over to pick up a shot tray she had dropped.

"We've always been ones to help out the less fortunate," Donovan sarcastically replied as he looked over to see one of his bodyguards kicking a Mexican groundskeeper while he was down.

"Hey, what's that smell?" Rod asked crinkling his nose as did several other attendees.

Donovan did not reply, his eyes widening in shock.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ha ha ha ha ha! Who's the bitch now Darlington?" Randy shouted as the Wastehauler pulled up alongside the pool party, "Let 'em have it!"

"You're the boss," Artie nodded and flipped the switch activating the roof mounted pressure hose.

"Looks like you're in for a shitty day!" Randy shouted, before laughing hysterically at his own pun, "Hey, I made a funny!"

Artie ignored his companion and activated the cannon, launching a torrent of human feces upon the hapless partygoers, many of whom were too slow to avoid the high speed jet sprayed in their direction, filling the air with screams of terror and disgust as they were showered in excrement.

"Man, I haven't had this much fun since I finally kicked my Cousin Scott's ass at 'U-Boats!' Yeah! Yee haw!"

Artie ignored his friend's excited outbursts as he continued to spray everything in sight, eventually catching the rapper Chihuahua with a pummeling jet that sent the helpless rapper falling into a nearby pool. He waved the hose back and forth, turning everything he could into a dark shade of brown.

Several bodyguards eventually made their way onto the mansion's balcony armed with assault rifles, but most of them were cut down by the shower of shit before they could squeeze their triggers, including one man who was sent tumbling over the railing.

"Oh man, this is so fucking epic on so many fucking levels!" Randy hollered excitedly before breaking into another hysterical fit of laughter before suddenly stopping himself, "Quick, there's some of them trying to get away!"

The ex-cashier pointed towards the front lawn where several scantily-clad partygoers bolted towards their waiting cars, most of them not having had the time to change back into their regular clothes.

With a nod, Artie shifted the hose towards the fleeing guests and began spraying them down with human excrement, the so-called 'beautiful people of Rushmore' now looking like swamp creatures, most of them knocked backwards by the hose's force and a few of their fancy sports cars even overturning as they were drenched by the brown tidal wave.

"Hell yeah that's how you fucking do it!" Randy whooped with a vigor Artie hadn't known him to possess as the hitman sprayed down more targets.

The wail of sirens came from behind and the hired gun looked in the truck's rearview mirror to see two blue and gold Patriots rushing into view, belonging to the Patrol Invest Group private security firm.

"Shit, we've got bogeys on our six! Bogeys on our six!" Randy shouted.

Seeing the two bulky vehicles speeding into view, Artie shifted the Wastehauler into reverse and watched as the two vehicles sped past them, their inhabitants scrambling for their guns. As the drivers struggled to regain control, the hired gun activated the hose and sprayed his antagonists down, assuring they would smell like ass for the next two weeks.

Artie would soon turn his attention beyond the Darlington pool party and began spraying whatever else he could see, including a group of power walkers, an older lady walking her two French Poodles, a man who had been tanning on his balcony and was waiting for his butler to serve him some expensive imported champagne, a whole slew of parked luxury cars and anything else that stood within his reach.

Randy jumped as a flurry of bullets pelted the septic truck and he looked ahead to see some of the shit-covered guards emerged from their Patriots with their guns blazing.

"Okay Artie, I think you've done enough damage. Now can we please get out of here before I have to shop for a toe tag?" Randy yelped as a bullet pierced the windshield and embedded itself in the seat inches to his left.

With a grunt, the hired gun shifted the truck back into drive and sped towards the firing guards, crushing one man before plowing through the multitude crap-covered vehicles and down the street to an area untouched by the shit, the large truck plodding along sluggishly due to its large size.

"Okay, I don't think these guys are gonna be too quick to forget," Randy nervously laughed as he noticed more P.I.G.-owned Patriots speeding down from the side street towards them.

"Of course not, we just covered their boss' neighborhood in a whole heap of shit!" Artie shouted back, jumping as a Patriot suddenly rammed them from the opposite direction and its passenger began rattling the truck with gunfire.

Artie slammed the gas pedal to make the truck go as fast as its wheels would allow, T-boning a limousine and sending it flipping over and crushing a nearby white picket fence.

"Take the hose," the hitman ordered, keeping a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel as he attempted to get them out of there.

Without hesitation his nerdy sidekick grabbed the controls and began spraying fecal matter wildly towards the vehicles chasing after them, only to jump as a blue and gold Patriot had somehow bypassed the stream of shit and was again ramming into them, too close for the hose to spray them.

"Jeez, for a kid who claims to be such a brain you sure do have a hard time following orders," Artie shouted, switching the radio station over to the Crossbones 99.1 indie rock station, currently playing "A Favor House Atlantic" by Coheed and Cambria.

"But I didn't see him! He just snuck up on me from out of nowhere!" Randy protested.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what your mother said to your grandparents when they found out she was pregnant with you," Artie retorted, jumping as more bullets rattled his side.

"Hey!" Randy screamed back, only to be sent flying forward as a bullet shattered his window and landing face down in Artie's crotch.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Artie hollered.

"No way," Randy shouted, his words muffled as his face remained buried.

_"Jesus Fucking Christ, I've always wanted to try receiving 'road head,' but this definitely _isn't_ what I had in mind," _the errand boy thought to himself as he plowed through an oncoming Stinger, only to find more of those security guards had set up a roadblock and were firing away.

"Hang on tight, this one's gonna get hairy!" Artie shouted to his friend slamming the gas pedal down and with a loud crash plowing head on through the blockade with no signs of slowing down.

"Oh shit…the brakes just went out!" the errand boy screamed finally forcing his friend off of him as the world moved past them in a blur.

"Oh god…I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!" Randy whimpered repeatedly while making the Sign of the Cross.

Artie ignored the wimpy man's sudden lapse into faith as the out of control Wastehauler tore through the Kirby district, past the Ye Olde Retirement Citadel nursing home and barreling towards a Tarbrush Café, its patrons seeing the vehicle coming straight at them and rushing for cover.

_"God, if you're out there and you exist then please do something to make sure we come out of this alive," _the hired gun thought, finding it bitterly ironic he was calling out to a possibly fictitious deity with all the shit he's pulled throughout his life. _"The things people will do when they know they're possible facing down their own mortality."_

Artie braced himself as the truck plowed through the tables and chairs on the patio and then right through the windows, the truck finally grinding to a halt when its tires were pierced.

Just like that it was over and the hired gun slowly opened his eyes, only to shut them again as a cloud of dust flooded his vision. He waved his hands wildly in front of him before daring to open them and looked over to see Randy deathly still next to him, ragged gasps being his only sign of life.

_"Hmph, guess there was someone looking out for me after all. Who would've thought so?" _Artie asked himself reaching over to nudge his companion, "Randy, snap out of it!"

The ex-cashier shot his eyes open and let out an almost euphoric gasp, a frown returning to his features when he realized he was not at the gates of Heaven being met by a gaggle of attractive angels.

"Just when I thought I was finally free from this cold cruel world…"

"Whine about that shit later. C'mon, we've gotta get out of here," Artie said climbing out of the truck.

"Did you really have to say 'shit' after everything we've already been through?" Randy groaned.

Artie ignored the man's complaint and made his way through the double doors and into the parking lot, where a white Fortune sat abandoned. Running over to the sedan he drove his elbow into the driver's side door and climbed inside to hotwire it, the station set at Beatbox 102 and playing "Rush" by Talib Kweli.

"You coming or what?" Artie asked honking the horn.

"Okay, sheesh don't try to attract any unnecessary attention!" Randy snapped climbing in and buckling in.

"Says the guy who smells like shit," the errand boy chuckled.

"Will you please stop saying that word?" Randy retorted, "God I so just wanna be as far away from that stuff as possible after what happened today."

"Sure thing, keep that in mind next time you've gotta go to the bathroom," Artie replied.

"You're a lot of help," Randy sarcastically muttered, looking away and shuddering. He held himself tightly and tried to curl himself into a fetal position, but the limited space wouldn't allow it and he was forced to bury the side of his head into the seat.

"Dude, lighten up. What you needed done is done," Artie replied, "We humiliated that rich prick beyond his wildest dreams. I'm sure it's going to be a long time before he decides to fuck with you again."

"Heh, and knowing my luck, tomorrow I'm gonna be getting shoved into a porta-potty and have it turned upside down on me over and over again," Randy groaned, "How many times do I gotta tell you I have the Devil's luck?"

"Well seeing as how I'm always feeling like I need to be seeing a shrink after hanging around you, I'd say you've got it hammered down to home," Artie chuckled as he came to a stoplight.

"I could give you the number for my therapist if you want," Randy said reaching for a nonexistent business card.

"I was being sarcastic," Artie said rolling his eyes, "But seriously, you need to lighten up man. You keep up this 'woe is me' bullshit people are gonna keep walking all over you. You've gotta take a stand sometime or another or else you're gonna keep getting thrown into the gutter and shit on like you're always whining about…and when you do try sticking up for yourself again, at least make sure you have some means of backing it up."

"So I go on a shooting spree over at the Washington Point Mall?" Randy inquired.

"No! No! No man! No! I'm not telling you to go on a fucking shooting spree man, but seriously you've gotta do something to defend yourself. Zeke and I won't always be around to watch your back," Artie explained as they exited Jefferson Vale and were driving through Washington Dell through the aforementioned Washington Point district, another upscale part of town where a lot of people were leaving the mall to visit the other establishments, leaving him to take the longer way around to avoid the forming traffic jam, and in the process force him to have to endure the rancid stench from Randy's clothes much longer.

"Gah…why oh why can't I just please be bitten by a radioactive flea right now?" Randy whined looking towards a teenager in a Flea Man t-shirt, "Look at how much good it did for Danny Dicker…"

Artie said nothing and opened the windows so he could air out the foul stench, listening to the hip-hop music as he drove back on what had thankfully been an uneventful ride, aside from being cut off by a patrol car speeding past with its lights flashing.

He pulled the Fortune up in front of The Little Black Book, which as usual didn't appear to have much in the way of business, and brought the car to a halt.

"Well thanks again for your help Artie…I seriously mean it…I'm not used to having people stick up for me the way you have," Randy said still looking away as he spoke to his friend.

"Hey anytime man, I can't stand those rich pricks either. Now go ahead and get yourself cleaned up," Artie ordered as his phone began ringing and he looked down to see Boomer was calling him, "I'll probably be in later."

He waited until Randy entered the bar and then pushed the button to answer, "Hey Boomer, what's up?"

_"Not much man, listen I was in the area and was wondering if you wanted to meet up at the Three Leaf Clover over in Bellport?" _the demolitions specialist asked.

Artie was feeling rather tense after his time spent with Randy and sighed before replying, "Sure why not? I've had a pretty crappy day. Might as well blow some steam off."

_"Hell yeah that's the spirit man! I'll make sure to have a beer with your name on it until you get your ass over here."_

"Cool man, thanks," Artie said before switching his phone off, wondering if drinking with an Irishman would be a wise move before departing for his next destination.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Well after months of being sidetracked I have once again managed to complete yet another installment of Rushmore City and thankfully it wasn't as shitty in the end.

This mission was inspired by the "Septic Avenger" side missions from the Saints Row series and the Wastehauler is an original vehicle I've introduced that is physically inspired by that same septic truck as shown in the game.

And now for the parodies: "The Great Explosion Concept" is my spoof of "The Big Bang Theory" from which the character Sheldon inspires Randy Spitz.

The Brown Streak is an obvious parody of the Flash whom a life-sized statue of appears in Yusuf Amir's penthouse apartment in "The Ballad of Gay Tony" and Flea Man is supposed to be a spoof of Spiderman and furthermore Danny Dicker is a spoof of Peter Parker, Spiderman's alter ego.

Buck Morris is a spoof of Chuck Norris and I might have some jokes inspired by him like they do with the real life Chuck Norris jokes.

Little Caligula's is a spoof of the Little Caesar's pizza chain which is inspired by "San Andreas" where they renamed Caesar's Palace as Caligula's Palace.

Beaver's is a spoof of the Culver's restaurant chain that was founded right here in Wisconsin and I would have it where their restaurants have the same iconic blue rooftops as the real life Culver's restaurants.

Gay Pisson (pronounced Piss-SAHN) is a spoof of Grey Poupon and made me think of those commercials I used to see when I was little where those bourgeois older guys would pull up alongside each other in those fancy cars and be like *in an afflicted upper class British accent* "Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?"

U-Boats is a spoof of the "Battleship" board game.

Rod Cummins is a spoof of Ron Jeremy and I would also have it where he physically resembles him too.

Well that's everything covered I believe so until then read and review as always! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	25. Wake Up and Smell the Ashes

Author's Note: I had to make a few obligatory shout outs before getting down to business:

**Cloud Link Zero a.k.a. CLZ: **I totally forgot about the Tornado Kick reference being inspired by the Hurricane Kick from the Street Fighter series. Thank you for pointing that out!

**Afro Spirt **and **Native Gunz: **Indeed Donnie has the 'jungle fever!' He's like a more violent version of Glen Quagmire from "Family Guy" in the sense that his cock DOES NOT discriminate against any kind of color. Giggidy-Giggidy-Giggidy-Yeah!

Chapter 25: Wake Up and Smell the Ashes

The cell phone blared noisily in the small apartment, causing Artie to slowly stir back into consciousness, his head throbbing like he had just been walloped in the back of the head with a baseball bat the second he made any kind of movement.

"F…Fuck…" he rasped, his body feeling like it weighed a ton as he struggled to roll himself over, only to find himself falling off the edge and onto the floor, snapping himself wide awake.

Everything spun around the hired gun and he blinked his eyes rapidly to help everything slowly focus back into view. The phone shrilled behind him and again everything felt like it was being rattled.

"Alright…I'm coming…" he croaked before spitting out a mouthful of phlegm, "Jesus who the fuck is calling me now?" he grumbled while bracing himself against the nearest wall, feeling along the nightstand where the ringing emanated from and knocking the lamp and a few other small furnishings off before finally grasping the cell phone and switching it on.

"Okay, just who the fuck do you think you are to be calling me at this time?" the hitman shouted into the receiver, his parched throat making him sound like a lifelong chain smoker.

_"Yeesh, is that any way to be talking to your own cousin ya' jackass?" _Donnie Cappelli called out from the other end.

"Donnie, what the fuck man?" Artie asked pulling the phone away and looking at the screen to see it was only a little after 5 o'clock and then looking over to see the earliest rays of sunlight snaking through the blinds, "What the fuck are you doing calling me this early in the goddamned morning?"

_"No you are not hallucinating my dearest Cuz in the whole world; you really are seeing that the Don is up and at 'em this early in the morning! Shocking huh?" _the elder Cappelli laughed.

"You didn't answer my question moron, what the fuck are you doing calling me this early in the morning?" Artie demanded, coughing harshly to clear his throat.

_"Not one to fuck around like always, that's the spirit Cuz. Let's just say I've got a little assignment I need some help with and I can't rely upon my own worthless brother, so I'm calling you," _Donnie replied.

"And why the fuck are you doing it this early? You should've fucking called me when I at least had some time to sleep off this fucking hangover," Artie snapped, fighting off his urge to punch a hole through the nearest wall.

_"Out partying hard again last night, eh? Just like a real hardcore Cappelli should be doing," _Donnie laughed, _"Don't worry; I picked you up some breakfast from the Rusty Brown's. I'll tell you more about it when you get your funky ass down here. I'm waiting outside right now," _he replied honking the horn before hanging up.

"Damn it," Artie grunted, "God fucking damn you Donnie!" he shouted looking down to his clothes scattered on the floor, reaching down to pick up a pair of black jeans when he suddenly noticed a black G-string lying next to them, definitely _not_ something that he wore.

A low moan came from the sofa bed and he looked over to see an obscured figure beginning to stir back into consciousness and it wasn't until the woman finally sat up that he recognized her.

"Portia?" he asked.

It was the same busty blonde street racer he recognized from the race over in Gold Valley from a few nights back, lying naked in the same bed which he had occupied.

The hired gun looked down and realized he too was still naked and quickly reached down to scoop up the same pair of briefs he had worn the day before, "Oh crap…did we?"

"We did," the buxom blonde replied standing up and stretching her arms, her curvaceous now in full display and making Artie nearly pitch a tent as he was finally able to see her without her clothes on. "You were actually pretty good too, I figured you had to be with the way you handled those trust fund bitches the other night."

Artie's mouth fell wide open as bits and pieces of last night started coming back to him.

He had met up with Boomer over at the Three Leaf Clover and unbeknownst to him, the explosives expert had invited a few of his friends over.

What had started out as one drink soon became two after he was challenged to a friendly arm wrestling contest by Boomer's friend Arnie, then three when he lost, then four when he was challenged by a smaller man called Scruffy, who was deceptively strong for his diminutive stature, then five after losing a drunken round of darts, then six when he lost a round of beer pong against the owner's son, and so forth until he was dancing and making out with every woman in sight, going toe to toe with some punk whose wife he had accidentally made out with and then finally somehow ending up back here at his apartment naked in bed with another woman.

_"Oh god…Gladys will murder me if she finds out about this," _he thought to himself as Portia bent over in front of him and reached down for her G-string and then a matching black lace bra nearby for her DD-sized chest.

"Relax, you didn't get me pregnant. I'm on the pill," she replied reaching down for a pair of short shorts that barely covered her ample buttocks, "I'm not some dumb ho' like some people might think."

"No…no, no, no! I wouldn't accuse you of that!" Artie blurted out taking a step backward and crying out as he scraped his heel against the edge of another stand.

"Well hey, it was still fun," Portia replied with a wink, "We'll definitely have to do it again sometime."

The honking of Donnie's horn came from outside and Artie stifled a curse word before returning his attention to Portia, "Look, I'm sorry to leave you high and dry like this and on such short notice, but I have to go help my cousin out," Artie said hurriedly reaching down for an undershirt and a pair of socks before pulling on his black jeans and then grabbing a black button up shirt, Kevlar vest and a blue denim jacket. Looking into a nearby mirror he saw his hair was a mess and would be in need of another haircut soon, but he had no time to style it up and instead reached for a forest green Rushmore Juggernauts cap. "You can feel free to show yourself out. Thanks anyway," he replied grabbing his wallet, keys, cell phone and Beretta M9 before making his way for the door.

Artie stepped out into the early morning air to hear the thumping bass coming from around the corner and he quickly descended the rusty metal steps, stopping to take a quick peek at his Sentinel, which was covered in various scratches, missing its driver's side rearview mirror, and had the front grill and bumper covered in dried blood.

_"Guess that explains how I got home last night," _he thought making his way out front to find Donnie waiting for him in his Banshee, blasting Cassidy's "I'm a Hustla" on Beatbox 102.

"C'mon Cuz, get your ass in gear. I've already wasted enough gas waiting for your lazy ass to crawl out from underneath your rock! You do know how high gas prices are around here don't cha?" Donnie called out waving his cousin over.

"Spare me the economics lesson for later," Artie snapped making a half-assed jog towards the waiting convertible and pulling the door open, throwing himself inside and reaching for his seatbelt.

"Oh, and as promised," Donnie said shoving a bag and cup into his lap.

"Well at least you find some way to redeem yourself after disrupting my beauty sleep," Artie grunted while looking over to Portia's Elegy parked across the street.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, you're always worse than a fucking woman. Looks like somebody forgot to change their tampon," Donnie chuckled pulling his shades down over his eyes before sniffing the air and finding himself recoiling, "Holy fucking sheep shit, you smell like shit man. You fucking sleep with some fucking pigs last night? Jesus Fucking Christ man!"

"Let's just say I was surrounded by a lot of nasty shit yesterday," Artie shuddered, remembering the rancid state Pinecone Grove was left in following his and Randy's trip through. Sniffing through the air he swore he could still smell it and it left his stomach churning, bad enough the usually tasty chocolate Long Rod he held in his hand would have been in his mouth right now being torn apart and traveling down his waiting gullet.

"Heh yeah, I heard on the news about that literal shit storm they had over in Pinecone Grove. I was a little bummed out at first since that place is always prime pickings for finding some rich guy's hot daughter out sunbathing in the nude, but when I heard that wannabe gangsta rapper from Vice City Chihuahua was performing at some rich prick's house I suddenly didn't feel so bad anymore," Donnie chuckled as he took a right and sped past a Yankee belonging to 'The Daily Blowhard,' "Although I do feel bad for those poor strippers, just a couple of honest ladies trying to pay their way through college."

"Yeah, whoever did that should be getting a medal for what they did to that little cocksucker," Artie half-heartedly replied, thinking of all those pissed off preppies after his mission from Randy, a bittersweet occurrence in being able to both help out a friend in need and ruin the day of some trust fund baby who thought he was on top of the world.

"Well hey in the end at least it'll bring down the real estate prices and then in the process, yours truly will be able to move into a bigger house and come one step closer to living like a king…no not a king…a god!" Donnie triumphantly proclaimed, so caught up in his own delusions of grandeur he ran a red light and was nearly sideswiped by a Serrano coming from the opposite end.

"Jesus Fucking Christ Donnie, watch where the fuck you're going!" Artie screamed accidentally dropping his chocolate Long Rod onto the Banshee's floor and sending his coffee flying out of his hand and onto the pavement.

"What?" Donnie called out as he was snapped back to reality and was then able to hear all the angry honks and obscenities hurled in his direction, "Oh, sorry about that."

Artie remained silent, his heart racing and threatening to pound right through his chest following his latest near death experience. If he had been half asleep before he was now wide awake following that near mishap.

"You're goddamned right you'd better be fucking sorry," the hired gun now finally willed himself to speak and in a near feral growl barely heard above the hip-hop music as his cousin raced across the Eastwood Bridge at reckless speeds exceeding one hundred miles, just as "Grand Theft Auto" by Da Shootaz came on the radio.

The Banshee roared through the Washington Common district and into the adjoining Washington Point district before Artie had calmed down long enough to speak again, "Alright, please tell me a little more about this little 'mission' of yours for which you required my assistance."

There was no immediately reply from his cousin and the hitman looked over to see Donnie in the midst of singing along with the song.

"Stop the violence from the police, you know my dad used to say but now he's deceased, he got caught in the jam, threw in the can," Donnie was singing along in a horrible off key pitch.

"Donnie, what the fuck did I tell you about paying attention?" Artie roared reaching over and turning off the radio.

"What the fuck man?" the elder Cappelli demanded.

"Okay, now that I _finally_ have your attention I want you to tell me more about this little 'assignment' that you had planned out, and you'd better tell me or else I will throw you out of this car!" Artie demanded cracking his knuckles.

"Alright, some rich punk has been causing trouble over at my friend's uncle's shop in La Reina and they want him dealt with," Donnie replied as they came to a halt at the next stoplight, obeying the traffic laws for once.

"Go on," Artie spoke as some pedestrians crossed the street.

"From what they know, he's only supposed to be in town for this weekend and then he's heading down to the Caribbean, meaning that we need to act fast hence the early morning bullshit," Donnie said as the light turned green.

"Hmph, this guy must be quite the asshole if whacking him is able to pull you out of bed this early in the morning," Artie replied with a slight chuckle, "So what else do you know besides that?"

"My friend has a cousin who works as a housekeeper over at the Chilton in Gomorrah, says the prick is staying there and that's where we're heading right now. They also said he drives around in a customized '92 ZR-350. We don't know when he's supposed to wake up, so we've gotta get over there before he suspects anything. How we deal with him, that's entirely up to us," Donnie grinned.

"Any idea what the prick looks like?" Artie asked looking down to his loaded Beretta M9.

"Tall, blond-haired, wears fancy clothes…but then again that's how roughly over a thousand fellas look like around here," the elder Cappelli replied as they drew nearer to the tourist-friendly Gomorrah district, "but then again we'll find some way to pick the son of a bitch out. Trust me, we will."

Donnie drove down the street lined with ritzy hotels, casinos and restaurants before finally coming to the Chilton Hotel, a thirty story ivory structure with a dark green rooftop lined with statues and an open garden filled with various fountains and other sculptures.

"Now try not to stand out too much," Donnie instructed as they passed a group of tourists who looked like they were heading out for the nearest country club and then a group of younger people who looked like they were heading to the beach.

"Well seeing as how you decided to pull me out of bed this early and I didn't have much time to get properly dressed up, that might be next to impossible right now," Artie retorted as a valet in a red waistcoat and black bowtie eyed him suspiciously, _"Fucker probably thinks I'm a hoodlum who's going to hold up the next person I see for their wallet and Crowex."_

Donnie snickered at the comment, "As shallow as some of these assholes are, just being in this car and with somebody dressed the way I am hopefully that won't make them too suspicious," the elder Cappelli said looking down at his own clothes, which consisted of a nice turquoise short-sleeved dress shirt and some black slacks, in addition to the expensive-looking shades he wore.

"Heh, and like you aren't," Artie retorted as they pulled into the large parking lot and he groaned in disbelief, "Damn it, this place is packed to high heaven. Good luck trying to find one specific sports car in a lot _filled_ with them!"

"I've already got that covered. Just you sit back, relax and let the Donster work his magic," Donnie replied looking over to a rat-faced younger man with short messy blond hair who wore the dark green polo shirt and tan cargo shorts of a member of the grounds keeping crew, lazily strolling about with a broom and dustpan in hand.

"Excuse me, sir!" he whistled to the young man, "I need your help with something and I can make it worth your while!"

Reaching over into the glove box, Donnie produced a gallon storage bag filled to the brim with freshly cut marijuana that was enough to make Artie's eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.

"Whatta ya' want?" the groundskeeper groaned irritably, until he saw the bag of weed and then his bloodshot green eyes grew wide in lustful anticipation.

"If you help me out this can be all yours," Donnie said motioning towards the bag, "Prime cut Jamaican grass just for your lungs' delight, but you've gotta help a brother out first."

"Name it," the kid replied excitedly.

"Tell me son, have you by any chance seen a customized '92 ZR-350 pass through here over the past few days? I'm talking a black car with gold trim and golden rims, plus I was told it had the word _'Prince'_ as a decal on the side," Donnie asked.

Artie sighed in frustration, doubtful some whacked out stoner would be able to remember such vivid details, especially in an area this large and with so many cars that probably looked the same to his fried out brain cells.

"Yeah!" the kid cried out, "I saw a car just like that over in the D section! It's a real beauty man. If you're looking to boost it I won't be tellin' anybody…as long as you gimme gimme that is."

Donnie smirked, "You've been helpful enough already kind sir. Consider it yours for the taking," he said tossing the bag to the kid, who quickly dropped his equipment and ran for a concealed place where he could smoke it up to his heart's content.

"Where the hell did you get that stuff?" Artie asked in bemusement.

"I have my ways of getting things. Heh, thought you'd know by now your big cousin has more than one trick up his sleeve," Donnie laughed while pulling up to the end of the row and waiting for a M.I.L.F. pushing a stroller to pass on through.

"Well I do know you have a gift for nearly getting your own flesh and blood shot up," Artie scoffed.

"You just have to keep bringing that up again and again don't you?" Donnie sighed irritably, "Jesus Fucking Christ get over it man! Or am I gonna have to take you on Dr. Gill's show to finally make you shut the fuck up about that once and for all?"

Artie just laughed as the elder Cappelli pulled over to the D section and slowly maneuvered his way through the aisles until he finally happened across the aforementioned ZR-350.

"Well I'll be fucking damned here it is," Donnie proclaimed pulling into a parking stall a few cars removed from their target, "Too bad we're gonna have to possibly blow the shit out of it. I bet the chop shops around here would pay well for what that bad boy has to offer."

"Planning something full scale?" Artie asked looking around at all the other cars present and all the damage that could possibly be wreaked.

"All I've been told is that we are to dispose of this dipshit by any means necessary, but judging by how much of a prick this guy sounds to be I figure why not something a little more hardcore? If you catch my drift that is, too big for him being shanked or having his brains splattered all over the interior," Donnie replied with a wink.

"My beloved cousin the psychopath ladies and gentlemen," Artie sarcastically proclaimed to the world, "Well since you're in the mood for blowing shit up, I know someone who can help," he said pulling out his cell phone and shuffling through his list of contacts before finding Boomer's number on speed dial.

The hired gun waited as the demolitions expert's phone rang, tapping his fingers impatiently against the passenger door until the third ring and it was then he heard a loud hacking from the other end.

_"Jeez, what in the flying fuck gives man?" _Boomer shouted from the other end, sounding like he was ready to rip off the head and then shit down the neck of whoever dared call him at this time of day.

"Boomer relax man, its Artie," the hired gun replied before he could go further into a tirade.

_"Oh…hey man what's up?" _he asked, his tone suddenly changing to a hoarse half-whisper before letting out a long drawn out yawn, a woman's low moans heard from the background.

"I'm sorry to be bothering you right now, but I need a favor to ask of you and I can make it worth your while for waking you up this early," Artie replied.

_"Oh, for a second there I thought you hadn't gotten enough of the booze and bitches last night and were ready for another trip," _Boomer laughed.

"Sorry bro, I'm not an Irishman, I don't have your kind of iron liver," Artie half-laughed before getting back to business, "I need to see if you can rig a car to blow for me. You think you can do that?"

_"Heh, can I? You bet your sweet ass I can, but you're gonna have to bring it to me. I can't risk Johnny Law and the boys finding out, but I do know of some good hidden areas. Just tell me where you're at and I can meet you somewhere nearby."_

"I'm over at the Chilton Hotel in Gomorrah," Artie replied.

_"Alright, I know of a back alley over in Hyacinth, right behind the Van Winkle Dome. I can be over in a few minutes, just hold tight until then," _the demo man answered.

"Gotcha," Artie replied before shutting his phone off and turning to Donnie, "Alright, he said he'll be over in a few minutes, but I have to go meet him over in Hyacinth."

"No prob Cuz, you just take your sweet little time while the Don gets some much need shuteye," Donnie replied pulling the lever to recline his seat.

"Don't you think you should be keeping your lazy ass awake and do something worthwhile, like I don't know, maybe surveillance? Y'know, making sure this ass monkey doesn't have backup waiting to shoot our guinea asses up the second we get too close for comfort!" Artie spat.

"Cuz, do you honestly think anybody of interest is up at this time of day?" Donnie laughed harshly before falling back in his reclined seat, "Now beat it!"

"Asshole," Artie muttered to himself exiting the Banshee and making his way over to the waiting ZR-350. Needing the car kept in mint condition so the owner wouldn't notice, he pulled out a lock pick Zeke had given him a while back and used it to jimmy the lock on the driver's side door, climbing inside and then proceeding to hotwire the car. Once the final wire was crossed the engine roared with life, the station set on Beatbox 102 and playing "Nastradamus" by Nas.

He shifted the car into reverse and carefully made his way out of the parking lot and back into the streets of Gomorrah, which were still largely devoid of traffic at this time of day aside from the street sweepers and other public service vehicles.

Thankfully the Hyacinth district adjoined Gomorrah, another upscale district dominated largely by the presence of the aforementioned Van Winkle Dome, home to the Rushmore Juggernauts and various other large scale sporting events, having even housed R.S.W.A.'s Murdermania 26 at one point.

Aside from a few employee cars present in the parking lot, the dome appeared to be largely unoccupied for this time of day and thus Artie was able to move around to the back alley without incident, until he happened across a Fortune rocking up and down and heard moans coming from within.

Shaking his head in frustration, Artie withdrew his Beretta M9 and made his way over to the white sedan, where he looked inside to find a businessman in the middle of a 'transaction' with a prostitute.

"Excuse me," he said tapping the gun's barrel against the man's window, "I have some 'business' of my own to take care of here…you two lovebirds mind getting the fuck outta here and finding somewhere else to continue your little game of 'hide the cannoli?'"

Both the car's occupants shrieked and scrambled to get off of each other in the confined space, the prostitute accidentally kicking her client in the face as he struggled to pull up his pants, leaving Artie to chuckle at the little scare he had just created. With a loud screech the sedan peeled out of the alley and it wasn't much later when he was hearing the roar of a motorcycle's engine to signify the arrival of the demo man.

Boomer rode into view on the same Angel he recognized from Ratchet's garage, "The Dirty Glass" by Dropkick Murphys blasting on his radio. He pulled up alongside Artie and deployed his kickstand, letting out a long yawn before dismounting and reaching into the bike's side pack.

"You'd better be ready to make use of this after pulling my ass outta bed this early, especially seeing as how I still had one hour left with that hooker before she charges me extra. Time's a wasting by having me out here," he spoke pulling out a box-like object roughly the size of a police scanner.

"Hey, blame my cousin, not me," Artie replied approaching his newfound acquaintance.

"Heh, whatever you say bub," Boomer shot back before getting down to business, "Alright, gotcha a homemade car bomb for whoever it is that's been pissing you off today. I got it rigged so that all you gotta do is strap it to the bottom of the guy's car and then you wait for him to turn the key and next thing you know…KA-Fucking-BOOM!"

"Alright, sounds like a plan," Artie said reaching into his pocket and producing a stack of one hundred dollar bills amounting to $1,000 and offering them to the demo man, "Here, hope that can be enough compensation for ruining your beauty sleep."

"I would've settled for booze and hookers, but this always helps too," Boomer chuckled sliding the bills into his pocket, "Gimme a call next time you need some other motherfucker blown to bits."

"Will do," Artie replied offering a mock salute before making his way back to the waiting sports car just as the explosives expert took off.

Getting down on his knees the hired gun strapped the car bomb underneath the idling car and just as he finished his phone started ringing again, seeing that Donnie was calling him.

Looking around to make sure no one else was around to listen he switched the phone on, "Donnie, what's going on? Did something happen?" he asked hurriedly, not expecting a phone call from someone he thought would be taking a cat nap.

_"Uh sort of Cuz," _Donnie replied with a nervous laugh, _"I had to get up and take a leak and then after yours truly was done wetting the whistle, well I sort of happened across the lady working the front desk and well, she was sort of hot and then well…we sort of went at it like a couple of wild dogs in heat in the janitor's closet…and well now you need to get back here 'cause I sort of convinced her to send the guy a wakeup call and he'll be out soon. Don't think he'll be taking too kindly to coming out and finding his pride and joy missing."_

_ "Donnie, Donnie, Donnie," _Artie thought shaking his head before speaking, "Okay and just when do I have to be back there before this chump notices something is wrong?"

_"Um that's the thing…you've got until 8 o'clock sharp," _Donnie again chuckled nervously, _"That's the farthest she was willing to go without her wanting to sodomize me with a broom handle in the end, kinkier than I expected."_

Artie looked down to his watch and his eyes widened. It had just turned 7:50, meaning by now he would have less than ten minutes to get his ass back to the hotel.

"Donnie you motherfucker," the errand boy spat, shutting off his phone and throwing himself into the car.

The hotel wasn't far away, but he would still have to hurry as he could hear the daily traffic now beginning to pick up. Peeling out of the alley the ZR-350's rear end fish tailed and it was only through some fancy wheel work Artie managed to avoid being side swiped by an oncoming Feroci, telling him he would need to get back soon if he wanted to get it back unscratched.

Slamming the pedal to the floor, Artie raced down the straightway in the opposite lane, causing several oncoming cars to swerve out of the way in one large demented game of dominoes and resulting in a massive pileup, paving a literal trail of destruction as he raced towards his objective.

He was so caught up in the scene taking place in his rearview mirror that it took the blaring of a big truck's horn to snap him out of it and he turned to see a Tanker coming at him, forcing him to take a detour onto the nearby sidewalk. Several streetwalkers had seen him coming before he even needed to lay on the horn and were sent diving for cover and he bolted towards the gate leading to the Chilton's parking lot, taking another sharp right that sent the car fish tailing before he finally entered the parking lot and made his way for the D section, earning the suspicious stares of guest and hotel employee alike.

Eventually he happened across the spot where the car had initially been parked, in between a teal Landstalker and a ruby red '84 Declasse Voodoo. Artie pulled the car to a halt and quickly got out, making sure to lock the door behind him before bolting over towards Donnie's waiting Banshee.

"Hell yeah, that's the spirit Cuz," the elder Cappelli cousin replied with a strident laugh.

"Just shut the fuck up and next time, let a chick shove something up your ass if it's gonna buy your 'beloved cousin' some extra time," Artie shot back while throwing himself inside.

"Alright, that's gotta be him right there," Donnie hissed just as a tall young man in his late twenties with short, slicked black blond hair came rushing towards the lot, clad in a black sport coat with matching slacks and an ochre dress shirt underneath that both cousins considered fancy enough for their standards.

Surely enough he was heading for the ZR-350, proving for once they could actually trust a stoner of all people.

"Alright, we'd better get out of here now," Donnie said pulling down his shades and starting up his car, doing what he could to look natural as they pulled out. "Okay, should be just about…now," he said when they had gotten a safe enough distance away, watching in the rearview mirror as the young man finally reached the car and pulled himself inside.

A violent eruption of flames soon followed and both cousins watched as several adjoining cars were swallowed up in a chain reaction that sent flaming heaps of metal flying in all directions.

"Ha ha! Score one for yours truly-" Donnie laughed, only to be silenced by a sharp glare from Artie, "-and his cousin too of course."

"I'd prefer you not fucking broadcast our victory to the entire world at a time like this," Artie reprimanded as they drove around towards the back of the building.

"Whatever you say Cuz, there's always later for us to…what the fuck?" Donnie asked, his eyes growing wide as saucers beneath his shades.

"It can't be," Artie gasped in disbelief.

The very same guy they had just blown to bits was somehow still alive and climbing into the back of a black Schafter with gold trim, the car carrying three other members of the Gold Valley Preps. Behind it were two Turismos, both carrying members of the affluent clique.

"Unless that other prick was a decoy…we were fucking had man! Those pricks must've expected something would be up! Motherfuckers!" Donnie shouted pounding on his steering wheel.

"Looks like we've still got ourselves a mission to complete," Artie said withdrawing his Beretta M9 and firing upon the Schafter, one of his bullets traveling through its windshield and striking the man in the front passenger seat.

The remaining Preps had taken notice of the hitman firing upon them and withdrew machine pistols, forcing Donnie to shift the car into reverse as the Banshee's front end was pelted with live rounds.

"You motherfuckers! This is my pride and joy!" the elder Cappelli hollered back as he reached for a Mini-Uzi kept in his door's side panel and returning fire.

A few of his bullets had stricken the fleeing Schafter, but by the time they had connected they touched upon areas that would have done no critical damage to either the car itself or the people housed inside.

A loud crash followed from behind and Artie peered over his shoulder to realize Donnie had backed into one of the dumpsters, popping its trunk open.

"Get down!" the elder Cappelli cried out a second later as the Schafter and both Turismos came speeding towards them, their occupants showering the Banshee with bullets as they sped past, shattering the windshield and tearing apart the sports car's headrests.

"You bastards are gonna pay for that!" Donnie screamed as he shifted the convertible into drive and sped after the fleeing parade of cars, plowing into the stoner who had provided the useful information that led them to the target's car, sending him flying high into the air and falling back to earth with a sickly splat that left his fried out brains leaking onto the pavement. There was no time to feel remorse over his loss as they had a job to complete.

The Schafter and its convoy had taken a left to avoid the pileup created by Artie's mad dash back to the hotel. By now rescue crews had arrived and were loading the injured into the back of more than one ambulance, while firefighters battled a blaze growing from the crumpled remnants of a Rebla. A few police officers who had arrived on the scene heard the screeching tires and began piling into their patrol cars to mount a chase.

"Okay, now this cocksucker is _really_ starting to piss me off," Donnie replied hearing the sirens coming from behind.

"And you think I'm _not_ pissed?" Artie shot back raising his Beretta and squeezing off a few more rounds which had implanted themselves into the back of one of the Turismos.

The gold supercars formed a protective barricade behind the Schafter, each of their passengers firing upon their pursuer, forcing Donnie to bob and weave to avoid having his front tires punctured.

_"This is the R.C.P.D., you in the Banshee, pull over at once and throw your keys onto the pavement. Do it now!" _an officer called out from a cruiser tailing them.

"There are other people causing trouble you know!" Donnie shouted back to the officer, his words muted by the piercing siren's din.

"Like they're gonna listen to you! These are Rushmore City cops remember," Artie shouted turning his attention to one of the cars behind them, its driver sizing them up for a P.I.T. maneuver. He raised his gun and fired a flurry of bullets at the approaching car hoping to scare the driver off, succeeding in striking one of his front tires and sending the car careening into a nearby Secret Identities costume shop.

Normally Donnie would have whooped and hollered in triumph at the sight, followed by him going on into a rant about how that being 'how Cappellis rolled,' but right now he was dead focused on the fleeing rich snob in front of him, not deterred by the flurry of bullets being fired upon him by the man's cohorts, a trio of which traveled along the hood and came dangerously close to striking him.

It was almost as if he had been forced to reach deep down within the depths of his soul to reach that zeal that left him focused on one thing and one thing only, something which Artie hadn't been able to take notice of due to him being forced to hold off the pursuing officers.

_"Oh you're so going down little man!" _one of the cops called out threateningly as his passenger pulled out a Remington shotgun and pumped it preparing to open fire, yet the man was cut off as Artie had somehow managed to score a one in a million shot, knocking the shotgun from his hands and sending him retreating back inside the cruiser scrambling for his sidearm, unfortunately his driver would be felled by a shot piercing the windshield and driving straight into his throat, forcing him to reach over to grab the steering wheel to prevent the car from swerving out of control.

"You gonna catch this fucker soon or what? I'm running outta ammo here," Artie shouted over to his cousin as he fumbled for a spare clip.

Donnie did not reply and instead focused on firing away through his shattered windshield, eventually catching one of the Turismos gunmen with a volley to the chest and sending the man's body falling from his perch and rolling along the pavement, only to be turned into a manmade speed bump for the Banshee. The elder Cappelli did not stop there and continued firing away, riddling the same supercar with bullets and littering his own car's interior with spent casings until he clicked empty.

"Just shut up and reload that for me," he said shoving the Mini-Uzi into his cousin's hands so he could focus on the road.

Normally the younger Cappelli would have shouted a complaint about 'not being his cousin's bitch boy' and furthermore going on to compare him to their super lazy Aunt Griselda, who needed help even reaching for the remote when it fell from her grasp, but given their dire circumstances he held his tongue and reached into the compartment between the seats, pulling out a fresh clip and slamming it into the Uzi.

"Thank you," Donnie shouted back snatching the gun from his cousin's grasp and firing another burst into the other gold-colored Turismo, his bullets eventually hammering their way through the rear window and into the back of the driver's head. The supercar swerved out of control and collided with parked '84 Mesa Grande, starting another chain reaction as an officer didn't have enough time to hit on the brakes and his patrol cruiser slammed head on into the pileup, sending the hapless officer rocketing through the windshield.

As it stood there was now just the Schafter and one of its escorts left, the latter having only the driver and already having smoke billowing from beneath its hood following the torrent of lead fired into it. Seeing his enemies walking wounded, Donnie was sizing them up for the kill and he wasn't going to let some corrupt pigs stop him from claiming his latest scalp.

He rammed into the remaining Turismo's rear end as it took a sharp left hand turn into the affluent Emerald Hill district, an area dominated by most of the island's skyscrapers, high rise apartment complexes and several other high end retail outlets. Normally he would have had a stroke at the thought of his beloved car getting the tiniest scratch upon its beautiful cobalt surface, but again he was too entrenched in the zone to care.

_"Are you fucking deaf? I said pull the fuck over!" _an officer cried over his megaphone, only to be cut off by his colleague.

_"Frank remember, we can't use that kind of language anymore! The parents' and religious groups will complain about us corrupting the youth!" _the other officer shouted before stealing away the receiver, _"Sir, you are only making this more difficult upon yourself and we ask that you pull over immediately before anybody else has to get hurt!"_

Artie ignored the officer's plea and fired a round that took out one of its flashers before firing another that pierced the windshield and produced a crimson splotch, yet the cruiser continued its pursuit up until he fired another trio of shots that found their way into the driver and sent the car crashing through a bus stop kiosk and a line of newspaper vendors before taking an abrupt right down a flight of stairs and into the side of an office building.

Donnie continued his assault upon the targets before them, continuing to fire away madly at the fleeing Schafter, the Turismo swaying violently back and forth behind it, the driver doing whatever it could to protect its client.

He continued firing until a pillar of black smoke escaped from beneath the Turismo's hood, soon followed by flames. Unable to take any more damage, the driver finally leapt out of the supercar and was sent tumbling along the pavement into the grassy avenue separating the opposing lanes.

"Now you're mine," Donnie shouted as the Schafter's occupants, minus the driver and their real target, began returning fire. The driver attempted to lose him by speeding through an intersection just as the light turned red, sending an Argento station wagon spinning out of control right in front of him, but thanks to some fancy wheel work the elder Cappelli cousin managed to avoid the would-be accident and continued his relentless pursuit.

Fortunately the Prep's trap had worked on the police and one of the cruisers was brought to a halt, while another tried to speed around it, only to collide with an Alphamail delivery van.

The chase continued into the Hawking Park district, another upscale district dominated by several museums, the Rushmore Opera House and the Urania Amphitheater, overlooked from a great hill by Minerva Temple. The Schafter cut across an open grassy knoll on which several historical re-enactors clad in Roman armor gathered, sending most of them scattering for cover while a brave actor clad in centurion gear attempted to toss a replica pilum at the disrupting car with little or no effect.

"You're a disgrace to Italians you fucking poseurs!" Donnie shouted to the faux centurion before returning his attention to the fleeing Schafter while Artie continued firing upon the cruisers still tailing them.

He continued firing until his Beretta clicked empty and he ejected the spent clip, fishing through his pockets for any spare magazines until his eyes widened in horror and disbelief.

He was out of ammo and at the worst possible time.

"I'm out," he shouted to his cousin.

"What the fuck do you mean you're out numb nuts?" Donnie shouted back as the Banshee found its way back to paved road.

"I mean that I'm out of fucking ammo you fucking dipshit!" Artie hollered resisting the urge to smack his cousin upside the head.

"Well nice going dipshit! Your timing is impeccable," the elder Cappelli cried back in sarcasm.

"Just shut the fuck up and focus on doing whatever the hell you're here for!" Artie cried back, holding onto his seat as the Banshee approached a deep dip in the road and was sent airborne.

The sports car hit the road with a loud crunch that shook the entire car and would have likely sent both cousins flying from their seats had they not been strapped in.

Fortunately the Schafter had hit the ground hard and lost control as a resort, sending one of the shooters flying out as he attempted to return fire and hitting the pavement with a spine snapping crunch, his misery ended after he collided with the Banshee's front bumper.

With the last distraction out of his way Donnie slammed the pedal to the floor until he was nearly alongside the car and let loose upon his target, riddling the car with ammo until his Uzi again clicked empty and he was handing the emptied gun to his cousin for a reload.

The Banshee was again rammed from behind and Donnie snuck a peek over his shoulder at another cruiser on their tail, "Shit, you'd better handle this one Cuz!"

With a nod Artie waited patiently for the convertible to draw closer to the Schafter and let loose another volley, watching as one of the silhouettes in the backseat lurched violently, but unable to tell if it had been the same man they were after.

Hopeful he had scored the fatal kill shot he turned his attention to the tires and peppered the vehicle with another barrage, piercing one of the rear tires and sending the sedan side swiping a parked Manana, yet somehow the driver held on and kept it on the road as it blew through another intersection without regard to the traffic signs and now raced along the road overlooking the nearby Lake Bitchagan.

"You better finish that fucker fast!" Donnie shouted as a bullet whizzed past his head.

Grunting in frustration, Artie fired away hoping to hit the car's gas tank, yet the driver moved along too quickly for him to get it.

Still, he had enough ammo to continue hammering away at the rival sedan and within seconds there were flames shooting out from beneath the luxury sedan's loosened hood.

"Hell yeah," Donnie whooped as he watched the black and gold car go skidding down the hillside and explode into one demented fireworks show, debris raining down upon the nearby fishing boats.

"Don't celebrate just yet. We've still got those fuckers on our tail," Artie said pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the cruisers still chasing after them.

_"You two losers in the Banshee," _a voice called out from above, _"You are in serious violations of more city ordinances than we can count! Pull over and we might just consider bringing your worthless punk asses in alive!"_

Artie looked up to see a blue and white R.C.P.D. Maverick hovering over them, its pilot glaring menacingly down upon them.

_"We're not fucking around you assholes! We will open fire!"_

"Then why haven't you fuckers done it?" Donnie shouted back.

"Donnie, shut the fuck up!" Artie replied slapping him hard on the shoulder.

"Well I don't see you offering any solutions jackass," the elder Cappelli retorted.

He was right. Without any bullets left the younger Cappelli was left with little options and was hard pressed for anything else.

"C'mon, think damn it! Think!" he muttered to himself just as his phone slipped out of his pocket and then it suddenly hit him.

Randy!

Artie scooped up the phone before it could fall to the floor and began shuffling through his list of contacts until he happened across the hacker's name and hit the speed dial button.

"C'mon, pick up!" he grumbled listening impatiently to the ringing from the other end.

"Cuz, this is ain't no time to be calling for a hooker right now," Donnie shouted over to him as he swerved to dodge a cab that had been moving too slowly in front of them.

"Shut up! I'm calling somebody who can help!" he shouted back to his cousin, breathing a brief sigh of relief as the phone clicked on.

"Randy-" Artie spoke, only to be cut off by a woman's screams of ecstasy, "Shit, Randy are you there? Pick up!"

_"I'm here Artie…what's up dude?" _the ex-cashier replied, his tone rushed.

"Randy, stop watching fucking porn man. I need your help!" Artie screamed into the phone as Donnie took another sharp turn to avoid a patrol car coming at them from the opposite lane, the gunshots nearly deafening him.

_"What's going on over there? And no, I wasn't watching porn!" _Randy shouted back.

"Bullshit!" the errand boy shouted back, "Listen, you said you can hack into the R.C.P.D.'s database, right?"

_"Only when they haven't notified N.O.O.S.E. or the F.I.B., I'm not that much of a daredevil," _the hacker replied.

Artie looked around, but couldn't see any silver Patriots or black cars coming towards him, "Okay, well it looks like those bastards aren't on our trail, but listen we've got cops chasing us down and we need to get them off our ass right away. Can you call them off for us?" Artie pleaded looking over his shoulder to see two cruisers closing in on the damaged Banshee.

_"Alright, give me a few seconds and I'll have them gone," _Randy replied and the ticking of his fingers waltzing across his keyboard were heard.

"Hurry, we don't have much time left!" Artie shouted as he saw smoke beginning to billow out from beneath Donnie's hood.

_"Hold on, just a second…and…there! Okay, they should be pulling back in a few seconds!"_

"Thanks man, I owe you one!" Artie smiled switching his phone off.

Surely enough, the cousins watched as the patrol cars suddenly halted and turned away, the Maverick following suit.

When he was confident the law enforcement had lost interest, Donnie pulled the shot up car to a halt in a nearby parking lot and switched it off.

"Wow, that was close," the elder Cappelli gasped reclining in his mangled seat.

"You're telling me," Artie added, his heartbeat slowing as he took a couple deep breaths, finally able to relax.

"Thanks Cuz, I owe you one," Donnie rasped, reaching into his pocket and producing a rolled up stack of bills, "Here, that's your cut for helping me."

"Anytime," Artie groaned accepting the stack of bills and reclining in his own mangled seat, feeling the cool breeze from Lake Bitchagan washing over him.

It was a rather serene setting in the small park before them, where a small group of students practiced Tai Chi in the distance and a hipster could be seen sitting on a nearby bench sketching the scene before him.

A short Chinese man stood behind a stall belonging to the Punk Noodles franchise and Donnie exited the mangled Banshee to go over and purchase some food, coming back with two orders of steaming noodles, one for him and one for Artie.

"Here, have this one on me Cuz," he said handing his cousin the small box.

"Thanks," Artie exhaled deeply, the enticing aroma assailing his nostrils and drawing him in, wolfing it down with the vigor of a cannibal on a battlefield.

"No problem, maybe Diego will hook me up with his hot big titted cousin now that I've done this little favor for him," Donnie said before forking in a mouthful.

"Do my ears deceive me? Is Donatello Cappelli finally settling down with ONE woman?" Artie asked, blinking repeatedly at the notion.

"Nah, but ever since I've met her I've made it my mission to get Lil' Donnie between those fun bags of hers," the elder cousin chuckled.

"Okay, I think that's enough info, but thank you anyway Cuz," Artie replied, never interested in hearing of his cousin's numerous sexcapades.

"Now that we've got this out of the way, I'm gonna have to take Bianca in to get fixed up. Gonna cost me a pretty penny though," Donnie said patting the crumpled door of his beloved Banshee, "Don't you worry dear, I swear I will never put you through anything like this ever again, I swear it. That evil prick wasn't supposed to have a decoy with him like that," he said while patting his car, speaking in the tone of a father attempting to console a child who had fallen and scraped her knee, once again leaving Artie shuddering.

"Alright, well I think I'm gonna let you get that out of the way then," the hitman said showing himself out of the convertible and tossing the empty Punk Noodles container into a nearby trashcan. "Don't worry about me, I'll take a cab."

"Sure thing, see ya' later Cuz!" Donnie waved back starting up the car and disappearing from sight.

"Not the ideal way to be starting off the day," Artie Cappelli muttered to himself as he checked out a young woman jogging past him when his phone started ringing again.

He looked down to see it was Monica Belding and he switched the phone on only to be met by a frantic shriek.

_"Artie! Artie are you there?" _she screamed.

"Whoa relax, I'm here Monica! Slow down, what's happening?"

She breathed heavily before replying, _"I think someone's following me again. I was over at the Supa Save in LaFollette and I saw some weird guy looking me up and down when I was over in the frozen foods section. I tried losing him, but he kept following me and now I think he could still be following me!"_

Normally he would have written off such an occurrence as the case of a jilted lover stalking the woman who wouldn't leave her husband and run away with him to the Bahamas, but then he remembered what had happened the last time he ran into Monica and how that hitman had gotten away after a long drawn out chase.

Could the same guy be after her again?

_"Artie please! Are you there?" _she whimpered.

"I'm still here relax! Where are you now?"

_"I'm heading over to my house. Please, it's the only safe place I can think of!" _she whined.

_"Jesus Fucking Christ lady, your house should be the absolute last place you should be at a time like this," _Artie thought to himself looking across the street to find another Ammu-Nation gun store, "Alright, just hold on tight. I'll be over in a few minutes!"

_"Oh god…god please hurry!" _she bellowed before the line went dead.

Artie bolted across the street and into the store, running over to the nearest rack and grabbing a H&K G36 assault rifle and a whole bunch of clips for it, wanting to play it safe after his recent ordeal, some spare clips for his empty Beretta M9, and an AA-12 auto assault shotgun along with some Frag-12 explosive rounds. He also scooped up a fresh Kevlar vest and knowing he had been spotted by the cops, also grabbed a balaclava which only left holes for his eyes to see through.

With the necessary armaments gathered he approached the register, where a redheaded man in a dark red Carcer City Unicorns hoodie stood with the latest edition of 'The Modern Gunman' in hand, looking up as the hired gun approached.

"Will that be all today?" the man replied in a thick British accent.

"Sure thing," Artie replied placing his merchandise on the counter.

"Heh, be packin' pretty lightly for 'round these 'ere parts," the man chuckled while ringing up his order, "Can I interest you in a rewards membership card? Half off all armor piercing rounds until the end of the month, plus if you sign up now you're in for a trip to Las Venturas for the American Guns and Ammo Society's annual Rock Against Russkies charity and concert. I hear Love Fist is reuniting for that gig."

"Not right now, I'm kind of in a hurry," Artie shot back looking down to his phone for the time.

"You mean you're gonna be passin' up on the chance to blast a few commies? What's wrong with ya'?" the cashier chided.

"I kinda' have a woman who needs to be saved and I really don't have time for this bullshit," the hitman shot back, trying to maintain his composure with the overzealous clerk.

"Hmph, suit yourself then," the cashier scoffed, "Soundin' pretty pussy whipped if ya' ask me, be passin' up some fine artillery for some small bird. You're startin' to sound like one of those Kretchell supporters, y'know the hardcore libs tryin' to let their old ladies push them around, tryin' to shit all over your Constitution."

"Heh, what's it to you anyway bub? You're obviously not from around these parts," Artie spat, taking a jab at the man's cockney accent, "You'd probably be getting yourself laid too if you weren't putting guns before bitches."

"Well your boys mighta' kicked our boys asses back in the Revolutionary War, but ya' still gots the best when it comes to hardware, the Russians and the Germans ain't got shit on your guns," the clerk continued, "Plus your women have the best fake tits."

Artie shook his head at the annoying man and then noticed a large sign on the wall behind the man.

_"Notice: This store IS NOT monitored by surveillance cameras. Surveillance cameras are for pussies when you are in a gun shop."_

He then noticed the moose head hanging on the wall above the man and withdrew his Beretta M9 and fired a lone round, knocking the stuffed head from its perch and causing it to land right over the man's head.

"Hey, what in the bloody hell gives!" the clerk called out, his voice muffled by the moose head.

"It's what you get for being annoying," Artie said under his breath making his way back outside and looking around for a means of transportation.

"Alright, where are you?" he asked looking around at the passing cars until a royal blue Buffalo came slowly passing by, "Jackpot!" he exclaimed before running over to the car and yanking its passenger side door open.

"Sorry ma'am, but I'm gonna need to borrow your car," the hitman said pointing his Beretta M9 into the young woman's face.

"Oh my god, get outta my car you maniac! Somebody help me! Please help!" she screamed at the top of her lungs raising her arms to bat away at the hired gun.

Eventually Artie managed to reach over and open the woman's door and with an additional struggle shoved her out onto the pavement.

"Thank you very much and have a great day!" the hired gun sarcastically shouted pulling himself into the driver's seat and slipping on the seatbelt, switching the car's radio over to Radio GX, playing "We Die Young" by Alice in Chains.

_"Just hold tight, I'm coming," _Artie thought peeling down the street, just as the woman pushed herself back to her feet and some other streetwalkers rushed over to see what the commotion was.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With a loud gasp, Eric Van Winkle pulled himself out of the water, weighed down by his once expensive suit that had now been ruined by the sooty water of Lake Bitchagan.

"Foul profligates," the heir gasped coughing up another mouthful of water before rolling over onto his back and looking out towards the water, where the remnants of his Schafter jutted out from the water and floating nearby he could see the charred remnants of his driver Bernhard lying face down.

Unknown to his pursuers, he had thrown open his door and managed to roll out before the car could explode, ending up in the water.

He had no idea who would want him dead, but he would eventually find out and was determined to make them pay for their transgression.

Pushing himself back to his feet he climbed the hill and soon found himself back on the sidewalk, where a young man on a lime green Ventoso moped came to a halt.

"Hey buddy, are you alright? I saw the explosion-" the man spoke, only to be knocked out cold by a hard backhand.

Reaching down Eric rummaged through the man's pockets and found his cell phone. Picking it up he dialed a familiar number and waited impatiently until an older man picked up.

_"Who is this? I told you already I do not donate to charity unless you're ready to repay my kindness," _the man spat.

"Father, it's me," Eric replied.

_"Eric, where have you been? You were supposed to be at the airport over an hour ago for your flight to the Caribbean!"_

"Some fools tried to kill me. They took out my body double and Bernhard along with several of our men!" the younger man spat, thinking of all the time, effort and money they would need to spend in finding a replacement body double for him.

_"Who? Who did this?" _his father demanded, _"Who would want you dead? I swear, nobody tries to kill a Van Winkle and gets away with it! Not on your mother's grave!" _

"I have no clue father, but I'm going to find out one way or another. You can count on it!"

_"Very well, shall I send a car to pick you up?" _Mr. Van Winkle asked.

"That won't be necessary…for now at least," Eric replied climbing on the Ventoso.

_"Very well, just get back over here to the estate at once! We have much planning to do."_

"I'll be over in a few minutes," Eric said before switching off the phone and tossing it into a nearby trashcan.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so concludes yet another original installment of "Rushmore City" from yours truly!

And now onto the numerous parodies and references:

Long rod is a spoof of the long john doughnut and Dr. Gill is a parody of Dr. Phil. Murdermania is a spoof of Wrestlemania, with a nod to SR3's Murderbrawl hosted by Killbane.

The Chilton Hotel is a reference to Alexandra "Alex" Chilton from GTA4. They never specify where Alex's family's wealth comes from, but given that she is likely meant to be a spoof of Paris Hilton, I've decided to have it where her family too runs a chain of high luxury hotels.

The "Grand Theft Auto" song is the same song from the GTA1 and 3 soundtracks that Donnie is supposed to be singing along with, figured I would go for an old school nod with that one.

Secret Identities is meant to be a spoof of Let's Pretend from the Saints Row series, in which if this had been an actual video game Artie would be able to go there and find costumes that would enable him to dress up like a ninja, pirate, Luchador, gimp, etc.

Hawking Park is named after Stephen Hawking and is meant to be my take on the Museum district from Stilwater.

The scene with the Roman historical re-enactors was a nod to Caesar's Legion from "Fallout: New Vegas" and the scene with the guy tossing the pilum is a nod to the throwing spears the Legionnaires use. The centurion was an officer in the ancient Roman army who was in command of a century of soldiers.

Lake Bitchagan is an obvious spoof of Lake Michigan.

Eric Van Winkle would be physically inspired by Donald Trump's son Eric, whom I've seen on "Celebrity Apprentice" before. Having him survive the attempted assassination is a nod to Ray Machowski's missions from GTA3 involving taking out his partner Leon McAffrey, the first being "Silence the Sneak," in which Claude was instructed to go to McAffrey's safe house and flush him out, then supposedly take him out, only to find out in "Plaster Blaster" that McAffrey had survived.

Having Eric Van Winkle use a decoy was also inspired by Saints Row, where in some "Hitman" missions you will take out the target, only to find out that it was a body double and that the real guy is trying to get away.

The scene with the moose head falling onto the Ammu-Nation cashier's head was a nod to "Dead Rising 2," in which one of the weapons Chuck is able to use is the moose head. I wanted to have a scene where Artie puts another annoying loudmouth in his place.

Lastly, Donnie having his Banshee named "Bianca" is a nod to real life, "Bianca" being the name which my cousin's wife gave to my car because she thought that it needed "a classy sounding lady's name."

Well I think that's it, so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	26. Suburban Chaos

Author's Note: My original title for this chapter was going to be "I Ran (So Far Away)" after the song title by A Flock of Seagulls, figuring I thought it would fit the main theme of what goes on here, but after working further through it I decided the new one would be a more fitting title, so here it goes. Now on with the story!

Chapter 26: Suburban Chaos

With the loud roar of the Buffalo's engine announced its entry into the Kirby district, inviting worried stares from a young woman who had been out walking her German Shepherd and some teenagers who were playing basketball in a driveway, Artie ignoring their looks as he focused solely on finding Monica's house.

It had been a while since he had been around this part of town, but gradually it all came back to the hired gun as he spotted some familiar houses along the way, including that one with all those gaudy hedges trimmed into various wild animals.

Taking a left onto Flanery St., the same ivory house came into view and parked in the driveway was the same silver DF8-90 that Reverend Belding drove and next to it, a candy apple red Bravura he assumed belonged to Monica. Whatever the case was, it appeared somebody was home and he might still have some time.

Artie pulled the Buffalo to a halt on the opposite side of the street behind a Burrito belonging to 'Spliff Lawn and Garden Care.' Switching the muscle car off he sat back and took a deep breath.

Inside Monica Belding could very well have been in the midst of struggling for her life or perhaps could have been hiding in a closet somewhere. So far there were no signs of forced entry, the front door being shut and the windows being closed, yet appearances could be deceiving.

His thoughts drifted to the young woman, the same woman who had hired him on to do her personal 'bitch work' in trying to dig up dirt on her philandering 'man of the cloth' husband, something he would normally have snubbed his nose at, being one who typically hated gossip in all its forms. Yet at the same time, he thought of a woman being targeted by a relentless hitman with probably no means of protecting herself against someone driven by dollar signs and for that he felt some genuine concern for her.

Stepping out of the car he looked around before making his way towards the front door, stopping before his shoe could touch the porch's bottom step.

Something didn't seem right, almost as if he were being watched.

The sensation sent a chill down Artie's spine and left him gripping his sidearm like it were a safety blanket. Again he looked around, only hearing the birds chirping, dogs barking and the buzz of a lawnmower's engine in the distance, the typical sounds of suburbia.

Artie made his way around the side of the house, following the same route taken when he was creeping about to take those incriminating photos of the minister, he continued about until he reached a gate and quietly opened it.

Still, nothing had happened and the hired gun made his way along the backyard pool and onto the patio, finding the sliding glass door ajar.

_"What the fuck?" _he asked himself as the alarm bells went off in his head. Now feeling his suspicions rising to greater levels he withdrew the Beretta M9 and made his way inside.

He stepped into a well-furnished kitchen, where a large knife rested on a cutting board next to an uncooked ham and on the nearby table was a copy of 'The Daily Blowhard' that had been opened to the sports section.

It was nothing too out of the ordinary for his liking and he made his way through an archway leading into a narrow hallway lined with various photos of the Belding couple in happier times, as well as documenting the minister's various exploits through his chosen vocation, including one which had included the shapely brunette secretary, albeit with her face now crossed out by black marker.

Artie tore his attention away from the photographs and continued down the hallway until he found himself approaching the front door and was stuck in between a stairwell and another archway. Taking a left into the archway he found himself coming to a grinding halt.

There in the house's living room lay both Monica Belding and her husband, each of them done in by a single round to the chest.

"What the hell?" he asked himself staring into the woman's unseeing blue eyes, "Who could have done this?" he asked aloud as he knelt down and closed her eyes out of respect.

Could the hitman who had been targeting her finally gotten through and finished the job?

_ "If so, could he have also been the man who murdered her husband?" _Artie asked himself staring over to the deceased man, his sky blue polo shirt now colored mostly crimson by the large butterfly-shaped splotch that had expanded further from the lone hole in his chest.

He still remembered the day Monica had been targeted over at the beach and how she was feeling paranoid that her husband had hired a hitman. If that had been the case, then why would the man suddenly murder his own employer?

His attention then returned to the deceased woman and again he was left wondering if it was something he could have prevented. Maybe if he had not stopped by the Ammu-Nation and let the prick cashier waste his time like that, then maybe he could have gotten over here just in time to stop the unknown assailant before he could carry out his foul deed.

_"Well no use in crying over something you can't change," _he said to himself rising back to his feet and was about to make his way to the backdoor when he heard a loud crash coming from behind and he quickly threw himself into the kitchen and took cover behind the island, just inches away from the sliding door.

"R.C.P.D.!" a masculine voice called out.

"Oh my god!" a feminine voice followed, "We're too late!"

"Someone get the coroner and the techs on the line. We've got a crime scene here," another man's voice added.

"Shit," Artie muttered to himself pulling the balaclava over his face.

The police were now on the scene and he had to get out of there as soon as possible. Thankfully the sliding door was only a few steps away and he pushed himself to his feet, crouch walking towards freedom until a loud shriek caused him to jump and shoot his hand out, knocking a row of freshly washed dishes from the nearby counter and sent them clattering to the floor, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

_"What in the blue fucking hell?" _Artie wondered as he looked down to see a gray and white cat scampering for cover after having its tail stepped on.

"Hold it right there!" the female officer yelled from behind, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. "Set your weapon on the counter and get on your knees with your hands in the air! Do it now!"

Artie turned around slowly to see the woman standing with a Beretta M9 of her own trained intently on him, just as her two colleagues stepped up behind her.

"Are you fucking deaf? Do as she said!" the first male, a scrawny African-American with a thin mustache, ordered cocking his pistol.

Artie glared hatefully towards the trio, unwilling to surrender his arms for anybody…the infamous 'Cappelli Pride' kicking in and raising his levels of adrenaline to unheard of levels. The officers looked like they were ready to shoot first and ask questions later, believing him to be the suspect in a crime he for once in his life did not commit.

"This is your last warning! Do as you are told or we can't ensure you will be leaving her without a toe tag!" the second male officer shouted, a burly Caucasian man who looked like he had seen his share of battles around the dangerous city.

_"Time to nut up or shut up," _the hired gun told himself before firing a barrage of shots towards the trio and then turning on his foot and bolting through the sliding door.

"Shots fired! Take him down!" the female officer yelled.

"Oh crap, Bob," the African-American officer said looking down to see his colleague slumped against the dishwasher with a quartet of bullet holes fresh in his brawny figure, "Dispatch report, we have an officer down! Send a med evac immediately to 718 Flanery St.!"

Artie bolted through the sliding door, only to be met by another officer armed with an Ithaca 37 pump-action shotgun. The cop opened fire, forcing the hitman to take cover behind the reverend's barbecue pit.

"Drop your guns and I might be nice enough to let you off with just a nightstick upside the skull!" the cop shouted before the lady officer joined in and they both pinned him down.

Artie winced repeatedly as bullets pelted the brick structure which he hid behind. He holstered his Beretta and withdrew the HK G36, making sure his clip was secured before popping out to blind fire at the two attacking officers.

"Keep it up dickhead! You're only making this worse on yourself!" the shotgun-toting officer called back before reaching for a handful of shotgun shells and sliding them into his gun before pumping the Ithaca and firing another barrage, purposely aiming higher to chip away at the top and deter the man from blind firing again.

Artie knelt down trying to take a couple deep breaths, but the loud explosions, dust flying into his face and bits of stone fragments impacting him made it hard to concentrate and he clenched the rifle in white knuckled desperation.

Finally having had enough, he popped up and fired a barrage into the shotgun-toting officer, riddling the man's chest with bullets and sending him falling forward into the pool, his blood turning the once clear water into a dark shade of crimson.

With the male officer down he felt the bullets impacting his covered chest before turning his attention to the female cop and launching another salvo, a round catching her in the side and sending her falling to the patio writhing in pain, giving Artie the much needed opening to run towards the fence enclosing the yard and pulling himself over it and into the adjoining yard.

The lady officer lay bleeding from her fresh wound, her cries of agony muting the hiss of chatter coming from the radio strapped to her shoulder.

_"Patrol, this is HQ, we have additional units heading for 718 Flanery St., do you copy? Please, make yourself known at once," _the dispatcher called out.

The woman let out a loud gasp before weakly reaching over and slamming down the 'Transmit' button, "This is Hilliard; the suspect is fleeing on foot. We have officers down and request immediate backup!" she managed to string together in one long rapid fire sentence before resuming her cries of pain.

_"Request authorized," _the dispatcher responded immediately, _"Backup with be arriving shortly. Attention all units, we are now entering Wanted Level 2, use of lethal force has been authorized."_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

More patrol units descended upon the nondescript ivory structure across the street, followed closely by two ambulance units, and within seconds the cars were skidding to a halt, the officers were fanning out around the premises and roadblocks were being set up at opposite ends of the street.

"Sir, we have a situation here and we're asking that you vacate the area immediately for your own safety," an officer spoke to an orange-clad gardener employed by Spliff Lawn and Garden Care.

"No problem sir, I'm finished here anyway," the man replied loading a duffel bag into the back of his company-owned Burrito.

"Very well, carry on then," the officer replied before going to intercept some neighbors stepping out their front door to see what the commotion was all about.

The gardener smirked and finished zipping up his duffel bag, containing a lock picking set, gloves, foot covers, a silencer and an Ingram MAC-10 machine pistol.

Making his way around to the front of his van he climbed into the driver's seat and pulled out a Whiz Ballsak, sending a text message to an unknown recipient:

_"IT'S DONE"_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With a loud 'oomph' Artie pulled himself over another wooden fence and into another backyard where a barbecue had been taking place, all of the guests scrambling for cover as he made his presence felt.

All he could really do was focus on putting as much distance between himself and the cops as possible and by any means necessary. He would worry about what a couple of jackasses thought later.

Unfortunately this was the last house on the block and he would be out in the open if he didn't move like a bat out of hell. Another siren drawing nearer made sure he wouldn't be leaping this fence and he snuck around towards the front of the house.

"There's the bastard!" a cop shouted, sending the hitman diving for cover behind a Bobcat as it was pelted by bullets.

In another string of bad luck, Artie found himself literally boxed in as a patrol cruiser approached from the opposite end and the two officers stepped out taking cover behind their doors.

"You fuckers will never take me alive!" the errand boy screamed raising the rifle and firing at the officers behind him, riddling their cruiser with bullets and eventually catching one of the men with a round that obliterated most of the crown of his skull.

"You bastard!" the other cop screamed stepping out and making a mad suicidal dash towards him, firing shell after shell, which again sent Artie scampering for cover behind the house as the pickup truck started smoking and leaking fluids, a surefire sign it was close to exploding.

"Get back here!" another patrolman shouted behind him, only to be cut down by a barrage to the chest before Artie nearly collided with one of the party guests and shoved the man to the grass, again cutting through the backyard and finally leaping over the fence, only to find yet another cruiser speeding in his direction with its lights flashing and its sirens blaring.

Without a word, Artie raised the HK G36 and fired a barrage directed at the car's windshield, taking both officers out before they could pull the car to a halt and he leapt out of the way before it could hit him, the unit crashing through the same fence he had just leapt over. A cacophony of screams let him know people had been injured.

"Goddamn, who does this son of a bitch think he is, the Annihilator?" a police officer huffed while continuing pursuit of the gunman.

One of his colleagues ignored his comment and scrambled for his radio, "We need air support! We need some fucking airport goddamn it!"

_"Understood, we are sending air units at once. Commencing Wanted Level 3!"_

Artie sprinted down the street as fast as his feet would take him, knowing he would need to get himself some wheels and fast or else risk collapsing over dead from exhaustion.

_"And just where could you be, oh beloved set of wheels," _Artie thought to himself as he took an abrupt right along the hedge wall surrounding a dark green house.

He passed a small gray house and noticed a Cavalcade FXT parked in the driveway, a dependable pickup version of the regular Cavalcade that possessed great handling and durability, an ideal getaway car for a time like this, but then he noticed the crazy survivalist positioned inside the garage behind a mounted heavy machinegun with sandbag fortifications set up around him, muttering on and off about rampant government conspiracies and even wearing the tinfoil hat that had been the trademark of paranoid conspiracy theorists everywhere.

Now would not have been the ideal time for agitating such an individual so he would be sent moving further along, until he was disrupted from his thoughts by a horn's honking.

"Hey dumbass, get outta the road will ya'! I gotta pick me kid up from soccer practice before my old lady takes my ass to divorce court!" a man driving a dark blue Flash shouted, having come just inches from turning Artie into a human speed bump.

"Score," Artie muttered to himself running over to the driver's side door and yanking it open.

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing you cocksucker?" the man demanded before he was knocked out cold by the rifle's stock being driven into his head.

"Shutting your fucking mouth, that's what," Artie replied undoing the man's seatbelt and tossing him to the pavement before climbing in and strapping on the belt, just as an officer called out from above.

_"This is the Rushmore City Police Department and you ain't giving us the slip that easily little man!" _an officer called out over a Maverick's bullhorn, _"Give it up you little shit stain or we're fucking your ass up beyond all recognition!"_

"I'm not going out quietly, you bastards can count on that," Artie replied shifting the tuner into drive and racing down the street, taking a sharp right hand turn and narrowly dodging another cruiser that had swerved in an attempt to halt his progress, only to be met by a flurry of bullets for its troubles.

Another cruiser had come to a halt and the officer stepped out with a Remington 870, firing a shell that shattered his windshield, showering him with glass, and shredding the upper half of the passenger seat next to him.

Artie grunted in anger as the shards of glass cut through his jacket and into his skin, the warm sensation of his own blood trickling down his arms. He clenched the steering wheel as he sped down the street, no time to stop and put a bullet in the motherfucker. He had to get anywhere he could to get away from these assholes and for once it wouldn't pay to stop for the sake of putting a bullet in one man's face.

He raced down the street and narrowly dodged a Moonbeam whose frightened driver had come to a halt in the middle of the street, forcing another patrol car to swerve violently around it in continuance of his pursuit of an elusive target, taking out a mailbox in the process.

Another sharp left turn awaited the hired gun and he nearly lost control of the wheel, almost obliterating an old man riding on an Equalizer scooter.

"Carpet muncher!" the man weakly bellowed, another taunt that would have normally gotten him a sharp jab from the hitman, but again it was a case of urgency which left him spared the fresh hot knuckle sandwich that would have otherwise followed.

He raced down the street as more pedestrians running away for the safety of their homes or wherever they could hide from the dark blue torrent of mass destruction heading their way, not wanting to be sucked up and tossed about like a tornado blowing through a trailer park.

Two more patrol cruisers attempted to block the narrow street he was racing down and an officer attempted to throw down a spike strip, but he was intimidated by the sheer force at which the Flash raced towards him and instead leapt over a nearby picket fence as the tuner cut around the barricade at a dangerous speed and plowed through a line of plastic garbage cans and mailboxes before finding its way back to solid ground.

"What part of you'll never take me alive don't you motherfuckers understand?" Artie screamed as he came to a crosswalk, where a police officer who had been acting as a crossing guard dropped his stop sign and withdrew his Beretta sidearm to squeeze off a few rounds, one of which had managed to knick the hired gun's shoulder, only serving to further the ball of rage in his system that left him wanting to bounce all over the place like a pinball.

Slamming the gas to the floor Artie plowed head on into the lone officer, resulting in a loud crack that crumpled the Flash's front end and sent the man flying into the great blue yonder. Angered by the action against the brother-in-arms, the officers trailing him began firing wildly in his direction, not caring if there would be any civilians nearby to be caught in the crossfire.

_"Man, these fuckers truly are desperate to catch me," _he told himself as he watched more locals stopping everything they were doing to retreat for the safety of their homes, the pursuing cops dead set on their target and ignoring everything else around them.

He looked in his remaining rearview mirror to see another cruiser sizing him up for a P.I.T. maneuver and the hitman did what he could to stay one step ahead of the guy, rapidly weaving back and forth in an effort to deter the other man's advance as two more of his colleagues joined up in another car.

Another loud blaring horn distracted the hired gun from his thoughts and he looked forward to see a big yellow school bus coming straight at him, its driver jerking the steering wheel to avoid hitting him and the cruisers, yet turning the large stubborn vehicle at an awkward angle.

"Here goes nothing," Artie muttered beneath the techno music filling his ears as he again slammed the gas pedal to the floor and took an abrupt left, squeezing through a tiny opening that left him crashing through a small picket fence and mowing down a bugler statue on the residence's front lawn. The cops in their cruisers didn't have time to react as they headed towards the bus and crashed into it, followed by a trio of explosions that left a suburban intersection congested by the aftermath of a blazing ruin.

"Goddamn it, how the fuck can it be so difficult to kill just one fucking man?" a veteran officer screamed over the radio to his colleagues.

_"I don't like the idea Sarge, but we might have to call in the N.O.O.S.E. boys for this one," _one of his colleagues sheepishly replied over the radio.

"God fucking damn it," the sergeant spat wanting to put a bullet into the radio, but he quickly composed himself and spoke into the transceiver, "Fine, I'll notify Chalmers and tell him to get the boys ready. Now entering Wanted Level 4!"

Artie breathed a sigh of relief at having avoided another potentially lethal situation as he sped around trying to survive in a hostile environment. He needed to find someplace safe and fast; somewhere he could cover his tracks and manage to slink out of the area.

Unfortunately he wasn't left with many options except for racing down whatever street happened to be next, still stuck in a middle class district that likely wouldn't provide much in the way of cover and there were no friendly faces he knew of who would be willing to hide him until the heat died down.

Artie took a left hand turn onto Connolly Blvd., only to come grinding to a halt in wide-eyed terror.

Two large black N.O.O.S.E. Enforcers pulled into view with six fully armored agents piling out of the back of each vehicle, all of them armed with H&K MP5's, SPAS-12 assault shotguns, M4A1 carbines and riot shields, forming a defensive perimeter. Two black and gold Annihilators hovered overhead with more agents rappelling to the sun kissed pavement below, bringing the total to twenty agents altogether.

_"This is the National Office of Security Enforcement and this is your last chance to surrender or else we will rip your sorry ass apart at the drop of a hat. You have ten seconds to make your decision bucko!" _one of the pilots called out over a bullhorn.

_"Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee! I'd start to pray now, a lot if I were you," _the other pilot cackled like a hyena.

Artie sat in silence staring straight ahead at what awaited him as the pilot began counting down slowly, putting as much emphasis as he could into the numbers and wanting to do whatever he could to make the hired gun shit his pants.

At this point he was boxed in and knew he had only two options. First he could surrender like a dickless pussy, but that thought quickly ebbed from his mind as he knew these cops were notorious for their itchy trigger fingers and would probably drop him in a hail of bullets even if he came marching towards them with a white flag in hand….

_"You'd better hope your family has enough money to cover your funeral expenses!" _the second chopper pilot taunted as his colleague reached 'five' on the countdown.

…and then there was his second option, which was to fight his way through the best he could. If he died then at least he would be going down in a blaze of glory as opposed to surrendering like a wannabe prison bitch.

_"Once again the 'Cappelli Pride' speaks for me," _he told himself as his hand gripped the gear shift and he shifted the car into drive, _"It tells me that if you're gonna die today, then you're taking down as many of these fucks along with you as you can!"_

"Fuck it all," Artie spoke with a smirk as he slammed the gas pedal to the floor and made his suicidal charge towards the barricade.

"Shit, that crazy bastard's gonna ram us! Open fire now!" a lead officer on the ground called out.

In one thunderous roar numerous firearms were discharged simultaneously, forcing Artie to duck low as the bullets shredded through his seat like Swiss cheese, in addition to blasting the side mirrors off, popping both front tires and peppering the hood, yet that did not stop the Flash from charging forward at full speed just as its name implied.

"Scatter!" the lead officer shouted as the charging car came within ten feet of the barricade. One of the officers still pelted the car as he fled, hoping to strike the small car's gas tank, but instead popped one of its rear tires and caused it to begin fishtailing out of control.

"You son of a bitch," Artie screamed as he struggled to keep the car moving in a straight line, but found that with three tires popped that was next to impossible as he closed in upon the two Enforcers forming the barricade.

There was only one thing he could do now and that was bracing himself as he awaited the collision to follow.

A deafening crunch followed and Artie cried out as he felt himself shoved violently back and forth, the whole world suddenly becoming much smaller around him as the tiny Flash tried to force its way through the narrow gap between the two massive emergency vehicles, thrown onto its side and into a barrel roll that sent it striking the ground multiple times.

"This…fucking…sucks!" Artie screamed between rotations as the car plowed through a fire hydrant and finally came to a halt as it crashed into a parked Sentinel XS, setting off the latter's car alarm.

The hired gun found himself feeling smothered as an airbag exploded in his face and he thrashed violently to get it off of him. His heart was racing, his breathing rapid and ragged and his entire body aching from head to toe.

He couldn't believe it, but somehow he had managed to survive.

_"Maybe somebody out there does love me," _he thought to himself as he struggled to get the deflating airbag off of him and fumbled for his seatbelt, struggling for a bit before finally unbuckling it and looking for any means of escape, finding a shattered window looking towards the Sentinel XS, providing him enough room to slither out, trying to avoid touching any of the large shards littering the ground around him.

"Well…fuck me…with a…rusty spear…" Artie gasped pulling himself along on his hands and knees, his stomach still performing a million times somersault inside of him and leaving him with a queasy sensation that left him wanting to vomit.

He pushed those thoughts out of his head as his original objective returned to mind, to survive!

Artie could still hear the Annihilators hovering overhead and could only pray they didn't spot him as he continued crawling along on his hands and knees, sucking in small mouthfuls of air as his hands eventually made contact with grass and he pulled himself behind a tall fence for cover.

"You think the bastard is still alive?" he heard a N.O.O.S.E. agent call out.

"Well we're just gonna have to find out for ourselves," the lead agent spoke up before issuing his next orders, "Fan out! Goddamn it fan out men! I will buy a free round of drinks for whoever brings me this faggot's severed dick!"

It was a telltale sign they had not given up their pursuit and Artie pulled out the AA-12, loaded with the destructive Frag-12 explosive rounds, twenty altogether in one drum magazine, knowing a few more heads were about to roll as he heard a loud hiss, followed by a whistle and then another explosion as one of the Annihilators fired a missile into the wrecked Flash.

_"Was that really necessary?" _he could hear another voice ask loud enough for it to be picked up on the attack copter's mic.

_"Just shut up and man the fucking gun!" _the pilot snapped.

Artie crept along the fence doing whatever he could to make himself as small as possible before he got close enough to the lavender house whose yard he had entered and he threw himself against the two story building, collapsing into a crouch walk to avoid being spotted by any possible occupants as he passed the windows.

He eventually reached the backyard, only to jump as he heard the loud barking of a pit-bull terrier charging towards him. Fortunately the hitman was far enough away to pull himself over another wooden fence, but the dog's barking had alerted nearby officers.

"Hey, did you hear that?" an agent called out, "Maybe the fucker went this way!"

"Boss, this is Red 3, we've encountered a possible disturbance and are investigating immediately," another officer spoke into a radio.

_"Copy that, you are green to go," _the team leader spoke over his radio.

_"Damn these persistent bastards," _Artie thought to himself as he crept along another narrow passage between two houses, _"When I find whoever killed Monica I'm so going to strangle the life out of that motherfucker for putting me through this. You can count on that you fucking piece of shit wherever you are."_

Eventually Artie happened across a backdoor that led him into a garage occupied by a vintage Classique Station with a wicked flame paint designs and a supercharger clearly visible on the top of its hood, normally a car he would have committed murder to have (quite the allegory for a time like this), but he had too much going on around him and doubted he would have the time to hotwire the beautiful muscle car.

Instead he collapsed behind the car and pulled out his cell phone, bringing up his list of contacts and wondering whom he could prevail upon for help at a time like this.

_"Zeke is a decent enough shot, but a majority of his 'combat experience' is from some video game, so he's a no go. Randy, heh are you fucking kidding yourself? That guy's scared of his own shadow as is, imagine what he would do when confronted by a highly-trained government operative sticking an M-4 in his face. Gino, he's another big 'fuck no!' Gladys, nah she's going through enough as is already. I could ask Aunt Gracie…yeah right! Damn it Artie you've gotta get some friends who actually know what the fuck they're doing," _he told himself until he came across Donnie's number.

_"Worth a try," _he told himself pushing the speed dial button and waited impatiently, mentally repeating _'pick up, pick up, pick up,' _over and over again as the four rings commenced and went straight until "Love Rollercoaster" by The Ohio Players came into play followed by Donnie's recording:

_"Hey yo' if you've reached this number to begin with, consider yourself very, very lucky. Anyways, if you're hearing this, then that means 'The Don' is either too busy at the moment or doesn't give a shit who you are and wouldn't wanna talk to you anyway. Please leave your name, phone number and a short message after the lady's screams of ecstasy and I'll get back to you whenever I damn well please."_

Artie hung up before the woman's screams could be heard and was about to switch the phone off when he finally came to another contact he had completely forgotten about in all the confusion and mentally slapped himself on the forehead.

Iceman.

The hired gun eagerly pushed the speed dial button, hoping against all odds the weapons dealer, and one of the few people in this city he could actually trust, would pick up the phone, but he too would be greeted by a voice mail recording before hanging up.

_"Jesus Fucking Christ Iceman, out of all the times I need you the most!" _Artie mentally shouted just as an electronic ding came on telling him he had gotten a text message.

"Shh, did you hear that?" a voice suddenly came from outside, causing the hired gun to grip his assault shotgun for dear life.

_"How the fuck did they find me?" _his mind demanded as he heard light footsteps come up alongside the figure outside.

"Yeah, you think that's him?" the other agent asked.

"There's only one way to find out," the first officer replied.

_"And whatever that way is can't be too good for me," _Artie told himself just as a ball-like object came crashing through the front door's porthole, something he could tell right away _wasn't_ good.

There was a window behind the hitman over the tool bench, but it appeared too small for him to fit through comfortably.

Then again, the hiss of tear gas pouring into the room telling him he wouldn't have choice and he grabbed a nearby toolbox, chucking it through the window with a loud crash.

"He's definitely in here!" one of the agents cried out breaking the door down, only to be knocked backward by a Frag-12 round eviscerating his chest.

Artie coughed violently and threw an arm over his nose and mouth as he pulled himself onto the bench and quickly pulled himself through. His eyes burned as he hit the ground, but thankfully he hadn't been around the gas too long and wasn't rendered totally helpless, meaning he could actually fight back when the other N.O.O.S.E. agent rounded the garage to strike, only to fall before another explosive round.

"We've got shots fired! Coming from over there!" an agent cried out from a distance, Artie's cue to get his feet pumping as fast as they would take him through the suburban warzone.

_"There he is!" _the voice of one of the Annihilator pilots boomed from above, _"Suspect is heading on foot along Dafoe Dr., approach with caution!" _

_ "Fuck it all, let's just burn the bastard!" _the insane pilot in the second chopper cackled.

_"No! There are too many innocent bystanders around to be caught in the crossfire!" _the man's co-pilot barked.

_"Fuck them all too!" _the insane man screamed before depressing the trigger and sending a flurry of high-velocity rounds, ripping apart the pavement and the grass as Artie dodged for cover in a narrow space between two houses, eventually coming to a door where he would use an explosive shell to break it down.

"Get the fuck outta my way!" the hired gun screamed as he bolted down the hallway, knocking over a woman who had emerged from the nearby bathroom in nothing but a towel, using another round to blow open the house's front door and continue his run, where the Annihilator was again right on top of him, its driver firing a volley of rounds into the woman's sky blue Admiral like a hot knife through butter, forcing him to make his way along the front of the house to avoid being hit.

Artie raised the AA-12 and fired upward at the black and gold attack chopper, one of his rounds managing to graze its side before the deranged pilot opened up again, cutting down an elderly man who had been in the middle of mowing his lawn.

He felt sorry for the innocent bystander caught in the crossfire, but he knew it was either him or them and he was in no mood to be done in by some psychopath who had somehow managed to get his hands on a badge and an attack helicopter.

It was time to end this with the maniac and he whirled around to again fire his attack shotgun, this time his rounds connecting with the flying metallic bird and firing away until it began smoking. It took a few more rounds before the burning helicopter began spinning on its axis and dove violently into a nearby house, a fragment from one of its blades being flung backwards during the following explosion and impaling a N.O.O.S.E. agent that had caught up.

Artie turned to find several agents had caught up and were conveniently boxed in between two houses, giving him ample room for firing upon them and cutting four men down in one fell swoop.

Apparently the pilot for the remaining Annihilator had given up on worrying about the safety of nearby civilians and opened up on the hitman, his high-powered rounds tearing through the outer wall of a blue house Artie had taken cover behind.

_"Fuck protocol! I'm taking your worthless ass down!" _the man hollered before unleashing another volley of high-powered fire that was soon followed up by a missile, blowing the blue house to smithereens.

Fortunately for Artie, he had gotten far enough from the blast radius and took a right into a nearby alleyway, pushing his way through another backyard's gate and eventually approaching the backdoor of an older house covered in peeling white paint, pulling himself inside only to be met by the cocking of numerous machine pistols.

"Bitch, you best step the fuck outta here!" called out a man wielding an Ingram MAC-10, a tall African-American male with his head covered in thick dreadlocks and wearing a bright red hoodie, along with a matching bandana obscuring the lower half of his face.

There were four more men in the room as well, all of them clad in red and standing guard over what appeared to be a meth lab.

_"Redcoats, over here in Jefferson Vale? What the fuck's up with that? Kinda' far from their normal turf aren't they?" _Artie thought to himself before a lanky Caucasian man spoke up.

"Hey faggot, he asked you a question!" the man said stepping closer with his TEC-9.

Without a word, Artie could only tiptoe back out the door he had just entered through, not wanting to get another faction on his ass after everything going on.

The hired gun could hear the Annihilator drawing closer and stepped back into an alley filled with rusty, graffiti-covered dumpsters, the burn out shells of long abandoned vehicles, ratty old furniture and wrecked appliances, it was a scene that to him belonged on Lincoln Island, not the suburban utopia of Jefferson Vale.

_"All available units report, be on the lookout for suspect. Suspect is a male of unknown ethnicity, around six feet two inches tall, last seen wearing a denim jacket, black pants and a black balaclava obscuring his identity. Suspect is believed to be the one responsible for the murders of Reverend Caleb Belding and his wife, as well as the deaths of several police officers. Suspect is considered armed and to be very dangerous. Situation has now escalated into Wanted Level 5. Stand by for F.I.B. orders."_

Artie was exhausted from his recent mad dash and eventually ducked his way into an empty playground, taking cover beneath a slide that had been designed to look like a whale made out of fiberglass. Collapsing to a knee and breathing heavily, the hired gun reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, again attempting to reach through to Iceman.

"Goddamn it, what's your fucking hold up?" Artie pleaded as he suddenly heard a cacophony of sirens louder than those of the standard police cruiser and even those of the N.O.O.S.E.-owned vehicles, a telltale sign things couldn't be good. "Goddamn you," he groaned miserably shoving the phone back into his pocket and keeping a white knuckle grip upon his AA-12.

Looking through a crack in the nearby wooden fence he was able to make out three F.I.B.-owned Buffalos speeding past the playground followed closely by a pitch black Rancher.

_"This day keeps going from bad to worse. It's safe to say somebody out there enjoys watching me suffer," _he thought to himself, resisting the urge to scream to the sky.

"Alright men, keep it sharp. He couldn't have gotten too far away," he heard a male's voice calling out.

Artie peeked out to see sixteen agents altogether spreading out to canvas the area, armed with H&K MP5's, Ithaca shotguns and a few even carrying the hard-hitting rapid fire AMP Automag Model 180's.

He looked straight ahead where there was another alleyway the government-owned Rancher was parked in front of and not too much further away from that was a government agent, a dark-haired, mustachioed man in a white long-sleeved shirt covered by a bulletproof vest that had 'F.I.B.' stitched into the front in bold white letters, his badge hanging over it, black slacks and a black baseball cap that also had his organization's logo etched into it, and lastly a pair of black shades. The man darted his head back and forth with a Remington 11-87 clutched in his hands, appearing visibly agitated and providing another dangerous obstacle for the already weary hitman.

Artie took cover behind a parked '86 Sabre Turbo and waited for the agent to turn his back before bolting across the street and sliding for cover behind a Manana, just in time to avoid the man's gaze. He crouch walked along the side before reaching the end and it was by then the man again turned his back. Raising the AA-12 he snuck up behind the agent and drove the assault shotgun's butt into the back his head, knocking him out cold.

_"Bronsky, come in! Do you see anything out of the ordinary?" _a voice crackled over the fallen fed's radio, _"Bronsky, pick up!" _the voice repeated before an _"Oh shit!" _followed.

_"That's my cue to skedaddle," _Artie told himself as he bolted down the alleyway.

"There's the son of a bitch, take him down now!" an agent shouted from behind.

_"How do these fuckers keep finding me?" _the hitman thought with a grunt and eventually snuck through an opened door, finding himself in a kitchen area.

"Hey man, you can't be back here!" a voice called out.

The hired gun whirled around with his shotgun raised to find himself face to face with three people wearing bright turquoise polo shirts and turquoise and white baseball caps that had bright red braids sticking out from both sides, which mimicked those of the ten year old freckle-faced girl from the iconic logo of the Ginger's fast food chain.

"And who the fuck says I can't?" Artie threateningly asked the man who spoke to him, a lanky, pimply-faced teenager with a high-pitched nasally tone, strands of greasy brown hair sticking out from beneath his garish cap. "Obviously you three losers shouldn't be back here either," he added, noticing how one of the other employees hastily attempted to conceal a glass bong as he made his entrance.

Artie could hear the loud huffing of the federal agents still hot on his tail and pushed his way past the three hopeless losers, hitting the one man hard enough to knock the bong from his shaky hands.

"Asshole, do you have any idea how much that cost?" the young man protested, but Artie brushed him off and instead made his way towards the front of the room, where a sizeable line had amassed in front of the registers.

"Sorry, but it looks like you're gonna have to head for the nearest Burger Shot today," Artie shouted raising the AA-12 and firing an explosive shell towards a nearby window, causing the angry customers to scatter, literally falling over each other to get away from the masked shotgun-toting madman.

"We have possible contact!" he could hear an F.I.B. agent shouting from a distance as Artie bounded over the counter and brought his shotgun's stock up to knock an overweight man out of his way just as he pushed his way through the front doors and into a parking lot filled with cars, bolting towards a young woman who was climbing into an Alpha sport coupe just as an F.I.B. Buffalo roared into the lot.

"You're going down you cop killing bastard!" an agent shouted stepping out from the car with an MP5 in hand, flanked by three colleagues.

Artie took cover behind the woman's car as she ran away screaming like a steaming teakettle, the agents' automatic weapons pelting away at its exterior before the hired gun popped up to squeeze off an explosive round that did significant damage to the government-owned car, yet failed to hit any of his attackers.

"Hope Satan has a special place waiting for you in Hell when we're done with you!" shouted a Caucasian man in black hooded jacket before he unleashed another salvo of lead from his MP5.

Artie grimaced and returned fire, his shells missing before he was forced to reload.

He could hear the flutter of helicopter blades overhead and peeked around a corner to see the remaining Annihilator circling the premises and coming dangerously close to spotting him.

"Time to unleash some great balls of fire," Artie muttered as he secured the drum magazine and raised the shotgun, firing a barrage upon the black and gold chopper.

_"Hey, we need some cover from the ground too y'know!" _the pilot hollered over his bullhorn as he struggled to get the bird into position, his gunner firing wildly on reflex and cutting down some of the angry customers who had attempted to flee from Ginger's.

Artie fired away relentlessly until he noticed fire coming from the cockpit, followed by the gunner leaping to his doom. The black and gold Annihilator spun wildly out of control before it came crashing to the ground, its tail rotor slicing into an oncoming F.I.B. Buffalo and then slicing another agent in half as it spun violently, sending the man's remnants against the windshield of a nearby car before it exploded and swallowed up a few more agents that hadn't been fortunate enough to get away in time.

There was no time to celebrate the small victory and Artie pushed himself away from the shot up Alpha and leaping over the frightened woman, who still lay on the ground curled up in a fetal position, making his way across the street and through another alleyway.

Artie huffed and he puffed as he stumbled through the narrow alley, collapsing against a parked blue and white '84 Phoenix. All of this running was quickly becoming too much for him and he knew he would have to find a safe place fast where he could recoup or else risk falling over dead from exhaustion, a possibility that had been nagging at the back of his mind all this time.

Desperation rose with every passing second and he needed to find some means fast. There had to be somewhere he could go and hide, or find some means of furthering his escape when none of his friends would be on hand to pick up.

Taking a couple more deep breaths Artie continued further down the alley until he found himself entering the parking lot of a strip mall containing various clothing stores, a Backside Skateboards skater shop, a divorce lawyer's office, a Boinkin Peters ice cream shop and a photography studio.

Feeling dead on his feet, the hired gun stumbled towards a Gnocchi clothing store and almost collapsed through the front door.

"Hello there and welcome to Gnocchi's. How may I assist you today?" a well-cultured voice with an effeminate lisp called out from behind, only for its owner to stop when he noticed the shotgun held in Artie's hands.

The hired gun turned to find himself standing face to face with an olive-skinned man around his height with slicked back black hair and clad in a beige suit with a burgundy dress shirt underneath. The attendant, whose badge identified him as 'Gaetano,' stood silent in terror, sweat already cascading down his face like a waterfall, his dark eyes glued to the assault shotgun held in the would-be robber's hands.

"As a matter of fact, I need to buy a new suit!" Artie replied before bringing the shotgun's stock up and knocking the man unconscious.

He could still hear the sirens of the federal-owned vehicles in the distance and knew he needed to act fast.

The store was lined with racks of clothing carrying the finest brands in the known world; the kind of store where a pair of shoes alone would cost the equivalent of a month's rent to the average Rushmore resident. To Artie, these clothes were even too much for him and he thought that only the richest of the rich would be able to afford even a pair of socks from this place.

_"Today's gonna be different," _Artie thought, able to pick out anything of his heart's content for free thanks to the attendant being incapacitated. _"Can't get too picky right now though," _he lamented, staring at a nearby mannequin wearing a black custom-tailored sport coat along with matching pants, a white dress shirt underneath and a blood red tie that stood out like a sore thumb.

Artie bolted back and forth between the aisles looking around for anything he thought could fit him, going from a light blue double-breasted jacket with a granite turtleneck underneath and basalt pants, to a blood red suit that would have made him look like Satan's personal pimp, to white business suit that would have made him bright enough for an airliner to mistake for a landing strip at night, to a bright yellow suit that might as well have made him a walking French Fry.

"C'mon damn it," he muttered to himself, until he came to another suit, a smart-looking black suit made of silk that would have made him quite the 'lady killer,' yet at a time like this it would have made him look like your stereotypical Mafioso, something that would make him stand out in the suburbs at a time like this, another risk he wasn't willing to take.

Eventually he happened across a gray business suit with a white dress shirt and a matching striped tie underneath. It was a suit that looked still a bit too fancy for this part of town, but at least it made him look more like a regular office stiff who was just getting off work for the day rather than a gangster looking to cause trouble. Carrying out a further sweep of the area, he eventually added a pair of black oxfords and a silver Crowex found in one of the front display cases. Remembering his hair would be messy once he removed the balaclava he also grabbed a matching fedora to cover it and lastly, a cream-colored trench coat that could be used for concealing his guns and ammo. With his new clothes gathered he made his way back towards the fitting rooms and emerged seconds later as a whole new man.

_"Now I look like that detective guy from that 'L.S. Noire' game Zeke and Randy are always playing," _Artie thought admiring his new attire in one of the mirrors, _"Now all I need is the 'Blue Begonia' and I'm complete," _he sarcastically added with his old clothes held in a bundle and making his way back to the fallen attendant.

He looked the man over again to see he was nearly his size, but lacking his musculature and then an idea came to mind.

_"Hopefully they won't notice the difference right away," _he thought scooping the unconscious fellow up from underneath his shoulders and dragging him towards the office at the back of the store, locking the door behind them.

Fortunately for Artie, the office also contained the store's rear entrance and even more fortunate for the hired gun, the safe had been left wide open and because of that he was able to pocket an additional ten thousand dollars.

With that taken care of he then made his way over to the desk, which contained the bank of security cameras and the VCR. Opening the hatch he pulled out the videotape inside, hopeful it would prevent the authorities from being able to identify him afterward.

"Now onto you Mr. Gaetano," Artie whispered kneeling over the fallen attendant and grabbing his wallet, finding an extra five-hundred dollars inside, in addition the man's ATM card (which he hoped Randy would be able to hack into, given the man must be somewhat well off if he's able to carry around five-hundred dollars out in the open like that), library card, savings card for the local Supa Save (which seemed like a place beneath a man of 'more refined tastes'), an official V.I.P. membership card for Golden Boys (no surprise there), and lastly the man's driver's license.

Having taken the man's wallet and keys he then proceeded to remove the man's sport coat, replacing it with his denim jacket and then grabbing a nearby roll of duct tape, where he broke off a piece and then placed it over the man's mouth just before pulling the balaclava over his head.

"Alright, this is the next store. Keep it sharp people," he heard a voice call from outside.

At the same time, Gaetano was beginning to regain consciousness and looked up towards him trying to say something, but instead finding his words muffled by the duct tape.

"Welcome back," Artie sarcastically chuckled walking over and pulling the man back to his feet. "You've got customers, aren't you going to assist them?" he asked leading the man over to the door and shoving him back into the front room.

"There he is! Drop him!" an agent's voice called out, followed by the explosion of numerous firearms being simultaneously discharged.

"My work here is done," Artie whispered making his way towards the exit and finding himself in the employee parking lot. Grabbing Gaetano's keys he grabbed the button attached to the key ring and pushed it, hearing the locks unclicking on a nearby hot pink Feltzer, causing his face to sag in disappointment.

_"I have to drive around…in that?" _he asked himself, forcing himself into a sprint towards it after hearing the hiss of an F.I.B. agent's radio.

_"All units report, threat has been neutralized. Someone get the meat wagon on the line, bag 'em and tag 'em."_

Artie climbed into the convertible and switched it on, its radio set to Rewind FM and playing "I Ran (So Far Away)" by A Flock of Seagulls, a proper theme given everything he had just been through.

_"I feel like I oughta' be taking a trip to West Vinewood via the Hershey Highway in a ride like this," _Artie thought as he pulled out into traffic, noting the odd looks of some nearby pedestrians.

Oh well, at least he was finally getting out of there and he quickly made his way towards the bridge leading for Washington Dell, only to come to a complete halt as he approached a N.O.O.S.E. roadblock, a line of cars already in front of him. All he could do now was pray to God nobody got suspicious.

It took a few minutes but when his time finally came Artie was waved forth by a black-clad agent.

"Alright sir, need to see your identification," the man said, eying the hot pink car and visibly struggling to contain his laughter.

Embarrassed beyond belief, yet trying to act normal, Artie presented the fallen attendant's ID to the cop and steeled himself as he hoped he could be spared another battle.

"Alrighty Mr. Moreschi, you're good to go. Don't wanna keep you from the next foam party," the agent laughed before allowing him to pass.

"Very funny asshole," Artie muttered under his breath passing through the blockade, breathing a sigh of relief at his good fortune.

He continued forth into Washington Dell's Hyacinth district before his phone started ringing.

Not wanting to cause any more drama for the day, he decided to eschew the verbal assaults of his angry fellow motorists and pulled into the nearby Van Winkle Dome's parking lot. When the car was fully parked he looked down to see that it was Iceman returning his call.

"About fucking time you got back to me," the hired gun snapped.

_"Hey man…take it fucking easy will ya'!" _the weapons dealer shot back, sounding visibly out of breath.

"Where the hell were you? I was in a jam and needed your help," Artie shouted back in reply.

_"I was in a jam of my own thank you very much," _Iceman retorted, _"Some of those Redcoat shitheads came over to my store and were causing trouble again. Sid and I barely managed to hold them off and they wounded one of my other buddies, I had to make them motherfuckers suffer."_

Artie was still exasperated, yet managed to calm himself when he listened to his friend's explanation, knowing he certainly wouldn't lie about something like that.

_"A whole bunch of those fuckers showed up. Believe me, if I could've gotten over to help you out I would have!" _Iceman replied, trying to help cool his friend's fury.

Artie took a few deep breaths to calm himself before replying, "I was over on Jefferson Vale and if it helps you any, for some reason those fuckers have a meth lab over in the Kirby district."

_"The Kirby district? I just heard about the feds shutting that place off because some guy was wreaking havoc over there. Was that you?" _Iceman asked.

"Guilty as charged," Artie replied, wondering if he should have been telling anybody about what had just gone down, even his smuggler friend.

_"Damn, that's pretty badass if you're able to hold off the R.C.P.D., N.O.O.S.E. and the F.I.B. all in one sitting like that. Now I'm really wishing I could've been there to help if I would've known you were in that much trouble," _Iceman spoke sounding almost guilty.

"Hey don't worry about it man, somehow fate was on my side today," Artie replied looking towards the sky and wondering if there was somebody up there watching over him, someone guiding his hand to make sure he had made it through the ordeal alive. _"Who are you fucking kidding? God would never help you out with something like that…unless there's some dude out there writing a story about your exploits and actually told the fuzz to miss you like that…Sheesh, who are you fucking kidding Artie? Now you're starting to sound like you belong in an insane asylum!"_

_ "Well whatever the case was you sure as hell got off lucky," _Iceman replied, _"I'd love to stay and chat, but we've gotta get these bodies over to Paco's and then get this place cleaned up. I'll have to tell the boys about that drug lab over in Kirby, give those fuckers some payback after what they did to my place."_

"No problem, I'll talk to you later," Artie said before his friend hung up and then he looked to the icon telling him he still had an unopened text message left in his inbox. Remembering how receiving it had nearly gotten him killed he furrowed his brow before pushing the button to open it.

_"Guess who got a new job!" _the text message from Randy Spitz triumphantly proclaimed and included was a picture of the ex-Cluckin' Bell cashier giving a smug 'double thumbs up' gesture.

"Randy, Randy, Randy…" Artie grunted shaking his head wildly, trying to rid himself of the malicious thoughts of himself clamping his hands around his 'friend's' throat and strangling the life out of him, all because the man wanted to send him some pointless text message that in the process nearly got him killed.

"That's gonna have to wait until later," the hired gun said as he stepped out of the feminine looking convertible and walked over to the nearby sidewalk to make a call over to Freeman Cabs, knowing Mr. Freeman would offer him a ride back to Camden Heights free of charge.

XXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so once again ends another installment of "Rushmore City" where our beloved antihero barely survives yet another skirmish with the authorities.

Flanery St., Connolly Blvd. and Dafoe Dr. are all references to actors from "The Boondock Saints," Sean Patrick Flanery, Billy Connolly and Willem Dafoe respectively. I already include Boomer, who himself is physically inspired by Norman Reedus, so I wanted to include references to other prominent faces in the movie as well.

The Equalizer is an original vehicle I included that is inspired by real-life scooters and motorized power chairs.

The Stallion Artie found in that one garage is indeed directly inspired by the Diablo Stallion the Diablos used in GTA3, which was probably my favorite out of all the gang cars, probably next to the Cartel Cruiser or the Yakuza Stinger.

Ginger's is a Wendy's parody and Boinkin Peters is a Baskin Robbins parody.

The suit on the mannequin Artie saw right away was a reference to 47's clothing from the "Hitman" series and "L.S. Noire" is a parody of "L.A. Noire" and the 'Blue Begonia' is a spoof of Elizabeth Short's moniker 'the Black Dahlia.'

Well I believe that's everything for now so until then all I have to say is read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	27. Three Aces and a Joker, Pt 1

Author's Notes: After dabbling in some completely original chapters I am now back to working on chapters inspired by the original story.

Chapter 27: Three Aces and a Joker, Pt. 1

It had been two days since Artie had helped his cousin eliminate that spoiled rich kid and his posse and then barely survived the skirmish with the authorities over in Kirby, all in one long day.

In addition to the money looted from Gnocchi and that fallen attendant, he made an additional three thousand for his help in taking down that rich kid. Even though his cousin may have been a shady bastard, he didn't feel like he was in any position to question where his money came from at this point in time.

All the money he was making made his stay in Rushmore City more bearable.

_"What the hell am I thinking? I'm not looking to set up permanent residence around here anyway," _Artie grunted as he made his way down the street to the Swigger's liquor store.

It was 'game night' for Zeke and his 'war buddies' and with nothing better to do on a slow day, he had finally caved in to join them for a night of "Sworn for Battle," where Zeke's platoon was scheduled to take on a unit based down in Reddick, Florida.

Literally, it was the only thing the young bartender would discuss all day long, how he and the boys were going to "open an entire keg of whoop ass on those 'Red Dicked' losers."

Artie had been charged with gathering 'refreshments' and was nearly at the liquor store's front door when he passed the Pawn-o-Rama and was suddenly distracted by the news broadcast shown on the Panoramic flat screen in the shop's front window.

_"-and in other news, local law enforcement agencies are coming under fire for their handling of the recent manhunt in the Kirby district from two days ago, which resulted in numerous casualties and several hundred thousand dollars' worth in property damages._

_ "The bloody skirmish has come under fire from Democratic mayoral challenger Robert Kretchell, who has criticized both the police and N.O.O.S.E. repeatedly in the past over their alleged 'excessively aggressive' methods used against small-time criminals, as well as the local anti-violence group 'Rushmorians Against Guns and Extremism.' Hoping to quell any doubts, R.C.P.D.'s Commissioner of Police Dennis Rowe, the commander of Rushmore City's N.O.O.S.E. division Timothy Chalmers and the director of Rushmore's F.I.B. division Benson Tuttle all came together earlier on today for a press conference held at the R.C.P.D.'s main headquarters."_

The scene shifted over to a conference room where three men sat at the front before a crowd of reporters, activists and concerned citizens.

_"Commissioner Rowe, it is to our understanding that your men were tracking down one lone gunman and yet you deployed practically half the department to try bringing this man down, was that truly necessary?" _asked RCNN-13 correspondent Cora Ricardo.

_"Ms. Ricardo, this may have been just one gunman we are talking about here, but when a murderer is on the loose in this fair city we always treat it as if there is more than one gunman present. From what my men reported, the individual they were tracking was reportedly like that one character Jack Howitzer portrayed, 'the Annihilator,' and if you ask me, then yes that indeed justifies the excessive use of force."_

Up next to speak was a correspondent from Weazel News, _"Commander Chalmers, let me be the first to say that here at Weazel News we truly believe your presence in Rushmore City is indeed a blessing," _the man tried to speak until he was cut off by an activist from R.A.G.E.

_"Sir, you must be blind!" _spoke the young woman, _"Have you not seen how much those barbarians enjoy their job just a little too much?" _she spoke as more members began cheering her loudly, _"Do you have any idea how many innocents were harmed going after that madman? An elderly grandfather who was just one week away from celebrating his 80__th__ birthday was one of the innocent casualties caught within the crossfire? How are you going to explain that to his grandchildren?"_

_ "Lady, you've got a lot of fucking nerve to be talking down to members of law enforcement like that, especially my men!" _Commander Chalmers interjected, _"We're out there doing a lot more than a bunch of doughnut munching losers who would rather spend their time fucking a hooker in the backseat of their patrol car would in an entire week!" _the muscular man shouted, prompting a loud protest from the commissioner sitting next to him, _"So why don't you sit your bony ass down and show some goddamned respect you drug-addled feminist bitch!"_

Artie chuckled as the commander's scathing comments drew widespread backlash from those in the room and his laughter grew even louder as the F.I.B. director stepped in.

_"Heh, like either one of you losers could get the job done to begin with!" _Director Tuttle scoffed to both men before turning to address their audience, _"Mind you, it was the hardworking men and women of the Federal Investigation Bureau who finally brought that madman to justice, sending him straight to Hell where belongs!"_

_ "And from I understand you didn't even catch the _right_ man," _a woman's voice suddenly spoke up, silencing all three men from their argument.

_"What did you just say?" _Director Tuttle asked angrily, the fires of Hell seen burning in his eyes even from the TV screen.

_"It is to my understanding that you embarked on an excessively violent, bloody manhunt all to catch one man, _one simple man_, and in the process you caught the _wrong_ man, yet another innocent civilian unjustly caught in the crossfire," _the woman replied matter-of-factly, _"Furthermore, I understand your men opened fire the second he stepped through the door, in violation of the terms of compliance officers of the law are supposed to observe."_

_ "Young lady, just who the hell do you think you are? More importantly, where the hell did you get this supposed information?" _Director Tuttle demanded.

_"Sylvia Liu," _the woman replied, revealed as an attractive young woman of Chinese descent with shoulder-length dark hair, deep almond-shaped eyes and a curvaceous figure that made Artie take notice, _"and it is my mission to get the truth out to the people at any and all costs. You'll be surprised who's willing to talk when it means those who deserve it get their asses handed to them."_

A loud honk distracted the hired gun and he whirled around to see a dark blue Mesa Grande pulling up, similar to the one Zeke's friend Kato drove.

"Yo' Artie, dude what's up?" the aforementioned gang banger called out coming to a halt alongside him.

Speak of the Devil.

"Kato? What the hell brings you to these parts?" Artie asked looking around, "I hope you do realize that you are smack dab in the middle of Redcoats territory, right?"

"Eh, gotta take a risk every now and then," the rookie operative casually replied, turning up his radio, currently playing "Hell Bent for Leather" by Judas Priest, loud enough for Artie to cover his ears.

"Could you please turn that damn thing down for one second?" the hired gun shouted over the sonic assault.

"Hey, don't be insulting Priest dude!" Kato spat reluctantly turning the dial.

"Okay, okay, but seriously what brings you around?" Artie asked leaning against his jeep.

"You," Kato replied pointing at him, "The 'general' wants to have a word with you."

"General?" Artie asked.

"Yeah, my boss," Kato added, "I told him all about how you helped us take down those Redcoat goons over at Gazangas and now he wants to meet you personally. That's a rare honor for an 'outsider' if you ask me."

"You're joking right? He wants to meet _me_ of all people," Artie scoffed, prompting Kato to narrow his eyes at him.

"This Ace ain't no Joker, friend. It's quite an honor if you ask me, now hop on in and I'll take you to meet him," he said waving Artie forth.

"Well I was kind of in the middle of something," Artie said looking back to the liquor store, "Guess it'll have to wait."

"Dude, I'm aware this is Zeke's game night, but there are more important things at stake right now. If he pisses and moans over not being able to get his buzz on, then I'm willing to take full responsibility. Now hop on in, it's not like I plan on having you out all night long," Kato said reaching over to open the door for him.

"Whatever, but you'd damn sure better be making it worth my time to meet this beloved 'General' of yours," Artie sighed climbing in and buckling his seatbelt, "So where are we heading to?"

"It's still at the point where if I told you, I'd have to kill you," Kato laughed evilly, but didn't scare Artie at all.

"Sure thing kid, you've got me totally quaking in my boots right now," Artie sardonically chuckled as he looked out the window to see some cops pulling a naked couple out of a van and wrestling them down to the concrete.

"Okay seriously, I'd recommend you brush up on your manners. The General and company really don't like being insulted," Kato advised as he waited for the light to turn green. Artie meanwhile was more concerned with looking out for any nearby Redcoats, knowing they wouldn't hesitate to rip them out of the jeep and shoot them dead if given the chance.

"So is there anything you can tell me about this 'General' fellow or about the gang altogether without having to kill me afterward?" Artie inquired as they exited the Camden Heights district and move further into another Redcoat-controlled district, knowing it would be a while before they were finally out of the woods. _"Might as well get to know this kid a little better before he can get his head blown off for acting like his Johnson is bigger than what it really is."_

"We're just a group of 'concerned citizens' who came together to fight back against the Redcoats, the Hellcats, the Yardies, the pigs and anybody else who threatens the stability of Lincoln Shore…" Kato explained before suddenly stopping himself, "…oh shit, I said too much!"

"It's cool. As long as the Aces don't cause any shit for me or my family and friends, then you have nothing to worry about," Artie replied.

"It's not us Aces causing all the shit going down around here; it's those fuckhead Redcoats and their lapdogs. You should know that already after the way they fired upon us in Gazangas," Kato shrugged.

"I believe you man, I was present at that battle on the same day when the airport was shut down by that terrorist attack, caught in the crossfire to be exact," the Italian-American replied.

Kato said nothing, offering a haunted gaze, a drastic departure from his usual devil may care disposition.

Surprisingly, as they moved towards the end of the Bellport district he swore he could have seen Donnie's Banshee parked outside one of the many apartment complexes, assuming he must have been in this part of town running errands.

_"Who the fuck am I kidding? Banging a different woman every other day is his definition of 'running an errand.'" _Artie thought as he spotted a sign welcoming them to Lincoln Shore.

The shore that gave the district is name was dominated by a weathered boardwalk that still had a few small booths on it that weren't receiving much attention. Aside from that, there were a few small businesses, mostly weathered houses and a cemetery, a far cry from the moneymaker it had been back in its heyday.

"Okay, we're here," Kato said pulling up to a derelict building that had once been the 'Gold Digger' casino, a once grand structure dominating the entire block in which it was housed with what had been the neon figure of a woman dressed up like a Leprechaun and sitting atop a pot of gold situated above the entrance's overhang, now weathered due to years of neglect and making her age like an actual person would.

Several dark blue vehicles surrounded the seemingly abandoned building, either Washington sedans, Mesa Grande jeeps like the one they were in right now, a few Vigero muscle cars and some heavily modified Rumpo XL vans decorated with playing cards carrying the figure of which the gang claimed their name, the Ace.

Kato parked the jeep and climbed out, looking around to make sure nobody else was listening in on their conversation before turning to speak to him, "Alright, just let me do all the talking and don't do anything stupid. They'll know you're with me and I don't want that reflecting upon me in a negative way, got it?"

"You're the boss," Artie shrugged as he was led towards the building.

Approaching a graffiti-covered door Kato wrapped on its steel surface twice and instantly a slot opened with the barrel of an AR-15 ArmaLite being jammed through it.

"Oh, it's you," a voice came from the other side and the guard opened the door for Kato, only to stop and raise his rifle once he took notice of Artie.

"What the hell Kato?" another guard spoke up, this one a tall, lanky African-American with his hair cropped closely to his head, "Y'know what Darius said, you can't just bring _anybody_ around here!"

"It's cool Ollie, the General wants to see him," the rookie Ace said raising his hands defensively.

Ollie and his colleague looked to each other before nodding uneasily and moving out of the entrance.

"Okay go on in, but if that 'friend' of yours tries anything funny…PA-POW!" the guard said pretending to fire his gun.

"You really should listen to your friend; I'm not here to cause any trouble. Gee, are all you Aces this fucking paranoid?" Artie asked with a roll of his dark eyes.

"Artie shut the fuck up!" Kato screamed before turning back to his colleagues, "Relax man, he's a little shy around new people, that's all!" to which Artie just shook his head.

"Come along now," Kato spoke waving the errand boy into the decrepit building and past the two guards, who still offered filthy looks to their guest as they shut the door behind him and slid the deadbolt back into place.

Kato led the hired gun down the entrance hall and into the gaming area itself, which was dominated by long dormant slot machines and tables were various card games were once played, now mostly covered by emptied beer bottles, used drug paraphernalia and firearms in various states of assembly. In the very center of the room was a '61 Big Bends convertible sports car riddled with bullet holes and having long since fallen into a rusted shell of its former glory due to decades of disrepair.

There had been several Aces scattered throughout the large room, some seated at the former piano bar in the far right-hand corner, a few more gathered around a sitting area who had somehow managed to hook up a GBOX 720 and were in the middle of playing a game and another former lounge that had since been converted into a crude gym, where a few more worked out.

Once they took notice of an outsider within their presence they stopped everything they were doing and narrowed their eyes in his direction.

"Hey Kato, you know the drill, we don't just allow anybody in here," a man around Kato's age with short brown hair and long messy bangs in the front called out, carrying a sawn-off Mossberg 500 and flanked by two additional Aces, "The General's gonna be so pissed when he finds out you brought a stray home…if we even allow him to live that long that is," he added, a comment which left Artie reaching for his holstered Beretta and ready to shoot his way out of there.

"Relax, the General wants to see him!" Kato repeated, throwing himself between the two men waving his hands back and forth frantically.

All the mentions of this 'General' character were really starting to pique Artie's interest and he would have been eager to meet him and find out what the hell all the hubbub was about after the way he was plucked off the street by Kato, as long as one of the trigger happy Aces didn't cap him first.

"He's telling the truth, let them through Mickey," another voice called out.

The Aces dispersed as a burly man of Pacific Islander descent stepped into view, his long black hair worn in a ponytail and most of his visible skin decorated by traditional Maori tattoos.

_"Is this the 'general' Kato keeps rambling on about?" _Artie asked himself carefully looking the man over.

"So you must be the new guy Darius was talking about, huh?" the man asked now taking his turn to examine the errand boy.

"And I take it you're not the 'General' guy Kato told me about?" Artie said looking over to his companion.

"Nah," the man laughed, "I'm just his right-hand man. C'mon, I can take you to meet the General though. I'm Sala by the way," he said offering his hand.

"Artie Cappelli," the errand boy replied returning the gesture as he and Kato followed after the burly man.

The stroll to meet the elusive 'General' led the trio through a set of double doors at the left hand side and into what had once been an entertainment hall, the setup on the stage appearing to have been that of a Venturas-style magic show that was never completed.

The hall now looked to have been converted into a sleeping quarter, billiard room, infirmary and marketplace all rolled into one.

Near the stage a pool table had been moved in and two Aces were engaged in a game, three more were knelt in front of the stage playing dice and two more were at one of the round tables playing poker. In addition to the gamers, there was another Ace reclining on a stretcher in the back corner that had been converted into the makeshift infirmary, his right thigh wrapped in a thick gauze stained crimson following his last battle, and another trio who were watching "Malevolent Deceased" on a small Sumo TV set up on another table held up by cinderblocks. On a higher level was what had once been the D.J.'s booth, now converted into a sniper's nest where a man in a dark blue beanie stood tall with a Remington 700 slung over his shoulder.

"So this is how the Aces roll, huh?" Artie asked looking around the gang's meager accommodations.

"Well when you're at the bottom of the barrel it's not like you can afford some fancy mansion over in Salmon Ridge, duh! Gotta make due with what we've got," Kato replied as they were lead through another set of double doors and down another corridor where several Aces stood around armed with heavier weaponry.

Eventually they were led to another set of double doors which Sala would approach and knock on before stepping inside, only to emerge a second later.

"The General will now see you," Sala spoke to the hitman before turning his attention to Kato, "Alright kid, this is a personal issue. You're gonna need to wait outside."

"But dude, I brought him-" the rookie Ace attempted to protest, only to be cut off by a sharp glare from the second-in-command and the two men standing guard. He eventually sighed in defeat and collapsed onto a nearby bench.

"C'mon in," Sala said holding the door for him.

He was led into a large boardroom where the solid oak table was heavily marred by gouges and numerous stains, as well as what appeared to be a few long ago dried droplets of blood. A shattered fish tank stood behind the worn leather chair at the front of the room, no doubt judging by the kind of money the former owners may have been raking in he would guess it was once inhabited by the rarest of species from the most exotic corners of the world. Near the front of the table sat a laptop made by Fruit Computers, the only thing that looked untouched by years of neglect in the entire room.

There were five people seated at the long rectangular table, which could have probably held twenty people altogether, whom he assumed were likely the gang's higher ups.

Seated on the left hand side were two men, the first a man of Puerto Rican descent with a shaved head who wore a dark blue basketball jersey and was in the middle of peeling away at an apple with a stiletto.

Next to him was a man whose dark tan-skinned indicated his Native American ancestry, as well as his dark eyes and black hair he wore in a military-style buzz cut. He was currently in the process of sharpening an authentic tomahawk with a whetstone.

On the other side were a man and a woman, the man of Asian descent with his short dark hair cropped closely to his head and wearing a dark blue t-shirt that appeared to have some blood spatters on it, an AR-15 ArmaLite strapped to his back. The woman was very attractive and was either of Latin, Asian or possibly mixed descent, wearing a blue top that closely hugged her ample chest and athletic torso underneath.

"Hey yo' Darius, he's here," Sala called out towards the front of the table, where the tall swivel chair faced away from them.

The chair spun around and instead of seeing some grizzled war veteran clad in an olive drab suit decorated by the medals of various acts of valor, he was greeted by a tall African-American male who could have possibly been in his late thirties or early forties, wearing a dark blue custom tailored puffy jacket and a matching do-rag over his bald head and had a thin mustache and goatee.

The so-called 'General' and the four other people present all stopped everything they were doing to receive their guest.

"So I take it you must be the guy Kato was ranting and raving about, huh?" the leader spoke standing up and walking over to Artie.

"That would be me," Artie replied with a nod.

"Darius McLaren," the man said offering his hand, "I lead the Aces."

"So you're the 'General' everybody keeps talking about, huh?" Artie asked, wondering if the man possessed any actual military experience.

"You could say that, yeah," Darius said before motioning towards his associates, "Before I go any further I'd like you to meet some of the top brass around here," he said starting with the woman.

"This is Lexie, our top strategist and master negotiator."

"Street gangs around here actually negotiate?" Artie quipped.

"Hey, we're not a group of drugged up psychopaths called the Yardies, we're not a bunch of disrespectful nobody piss ants called the Hellcats, and we're sure as hell not a bunch of backstabbing motherfuckers called the Redcoats!" Lexie scoffed.

Darius ignored his strategist's reply and turned his attention to the man seated next to her, "This is Koji, our 'medic' if you will."

"Well at least you've got some actual positions around here," Artie replied looking towards the Asian-American man, "Got any health and dental?"

"Nah, but we do get to play with guns and blow shit up," the medic chuckled almost insanely.

The Aces 'general' then turned his attention over to the Native American man, "This here is Jason Rivers, our ace tracker and scavenger."

"Anything you need, I get it," the man spoke short and to the point, admiring his newly re-sharpened blade.

"And this here is Philly, one of our street sergeants," Darius said motioning towards the Puerto Rican man.

"Glad to meet you. You've made the right choice in rolling with us," the man replied before chomping down on some of the apple peelings.

"He ain't technically rolling with us just yet," Darius said to his subordinate before returning his attention to Artie.

"No offense, but I honestly don't think I wanna be rolling with anybody. This is a conflict which I'd much rather not be getting involved in," Artie replied with a shrug.

"So you're a fuckin' pussy then, huh?" Philly spoke up reaching for his stiletto, only to be halted by Darius.

"I'm afraid you really have no other choice by this point. You've already killed members of the Redcoats, the Hellcats and the Yardies, no doubt they'll be hunting your ass down until you're either six feet under or until pieces of you are scattered all over the island," the leader explained before furrowing his brow, "and if you wish to insult us like this, you can have another gang wanting you dead."

"Okay fine, you win. What do you want me to do?" Artie asked sighing in defeat.

"There's a lot that needs to be done. We've decided that enough is enough and we're going to put those bastards out of their misery once and for all. To do so, we're going to need a lot of powerful allies, but if you're going to roll with us you need to prove yourself. We ain't got time for pussies looking to bring us down, so you'd better be ready to deliver," Darius said looking him straight in the eye.

"It wouldn't be the first time I've had to prove myself and it probably won't be the last," Artie replied, "and I plan on being around long enough to prove myself again."

"You've got spirit man, I'm definitely gonna give that to you, but everything else you're gonna have to earn," Darius said motioning for him to follow.

They made their way back into the hall, where Kato still waited outside the door like a puppy waiting for his master to return home.

"So how did it go man? Are you in yet?" he asked following alongside his newfound companion.

"Not yet," the hired gun hissed back as they were led into the main gaming area, where all of the Aces stopped whatever they were doing and rose to receive their leader in the way troops would rise to salute their general.

"Listen up Aces, this here is Artie Cappelli and he's gonna be helping us out, but in order to receive our support he's gonna have to commit to a series of 'tests' and he has to pass each and every single one of them before I give any of you the order to raise your guns in his defense," Darius called out, his followings hanging on his every word.

"Guess I should've brought my No. 2 pencils along," Artie quipped, but was again ignored by the leader, whose attention remained focused solely on his followers.

He could tell that in spite of his thuggish appearance, the man was a charismatic soul who commanded respect and yet at the same time emitted the fatherly aura of a leader who seemed to genuinely care for his subjects and would actually take it hard if one of them died, unlike most gang leaders who view their subordinates as nothing more than expendable pawns. No doubt he would have an entire loyal army ready to do his bidding the second he commanded.

Darius returned his attention to Artie and nodded, "If you want our help you'd better start getting to it."

"Alright, what do you want me to do?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_"Alright listen up, I've got three of my top lieutenants set up at different locations all around the island," _Darius explained over the phone as Artie rode in the Mesa Grande along with Kato.

_"Your task is to meet up with each one of them and perform whatever they ask of you. They take a shit and tell you to eat it, you do it. Understand?"_

"That's a little hardcore don't you think?" Artie sarcastically retorted.

_"Coming from the mouth of somebody who shot up a whole bunch of Redcoats in cold blood? I think not. I need you to get over to La Reina. Rodrigo is waiting for you; trust me he's not hard to miss."_

The line went dead and Artie put his phone away, returning his attention to Kato, who had been tasked with transporting him to the first location.

"Where to oh gracious leader?" Kato joked as the light turned green.

"La Reina, and step on it. I have to meet up with Rodrigo," Artie replied as the jeep moved along.

"He probably wants you to race him, but I warn you that guy's good," Kato explained, "He's one of the best street racers in all of Rushmore City and is a near mythic figure on the back roads of Roosevelt Hills. Hell, the hillbillies there think he's some kind of blue ghost or something."

"So is that all he does?" Artie asked as they passed through the Cuba Norte district, where some orange-clad Cuban thugs were in the process of terrorizing some patrons outside the Bean Machine.

"He's also our top mechanic and runs our chop shop operations. I've already jacked a few rides for the guy and he pays well too. Seriously, I think he's supposed to be the exiled son of some Colombian Cartel or something along those lines. I'd ask further, but I don't wanna be ending up in a drainage ditch somewhere with a Colombian necktie," Kato explained further.

"That's a charming thought…" the hired gun sighed, knowing of the bloodthirsty, disloyal nature of the said criminal organization.

"Relax man, just don't piss him off and you'll be alright."

The duo eventually pulled up to a purple and yellow building which Artie recognized as Taco Hell, a cartoon caricature of Satan wearing a sombrero and holding a taco in one hand and a large drink in the other making up the logo.

"That's him right there," Kato said pointing towards a Colombian man reclining casually at one of the outdoor tables with a large burrito in hand.

He was around 5' 10" in height with short black hair worn slicked back and a thin mustache with a soul patch beneath his lower lip. He was clad in a white wife beater and dark blue jeans with black, white and blue athletic shoes and for being one of the Aces he possessed some pretty high end jewelry, wearing an ornate cross necklace, gold Crowex watch similar to what Artie had once possessed and had several rings on each finger. He also wore a holster around his waist which carried an H&K MK23 semi-automatic pistol, likely deterring any hoodlums from trying to loot any of the aforementioned 'bling bling.'

"Hey Rodrigo," Kato called out approaching the man and walking over to high-five him.

"Good to see you again Kato," the man replied in a thick accent before turning to address Artie, "And you must be the guy the boss was talking about, pleasure to meet you amigo."

"Likewise," Artie replied with a nod, "I was told you might have a little 'test' for me to complete, and I'm guessing that it's something that doesn't require me to bring a pencil and a calculator along."

"So you're a funny man, eh? I doubt that'll get you far with what I have planned for you, but I can't blame you for wanting to go down with a smile on your face," the Colombian chuckled before addressing Kato, "Alright kid, I'm sure the boss has other things in mind for you, so I think it's time you skedaddle. I'll take it from here."

"Fine," Kato said feeling deflated before speaking to Artie, "Let me know how things turn out," he shouted before turning on his heel and making his way back to the jeep.

"Alright, let's get to it then," Artie said staring warily towards the Ace lieutenant, "What do you want me to do? Blast some Redcoats? Steal another Yardies shipment? Chop the heads off some Hellcats and place them on pikes all around the island? Take you on in a street race?"

Rodrigo laughed heartily at the last comment, "Get the fuck outta here ese, you ain't nowhere near that just yet!" he scoffed before picking up his tray and emptying his trash into the nearest receptacle. "How good are you at getting things?"

"Eh, I've been told I'm pretty good," Artie replied.

"Well what you've probably been told elsewhere means shit around these parts. If you're gonna be making such a claim, then you'd damned sure better be able to back it up, meaning you're gonna have to start from scratch all over again," the Colombian casually replied, "Come with me holmes and I'll tell you what I've got in mind."

Rodrigo led the errand boy over to the parking lot and towards a waiting Style SR, the sports car-based 'tuner' carrying a blue and gold paint scheme, covered in lightning-based decals with a large spoiler on the back, sparkling gold-plated rims, prominent nitrous pipes jutting from the rear end and as they drew closer, suede seats that would surely feel soft on the skin.

"Badass ride man," Artie complimented as the man pushed a button on his key chain to unlock the doors.

"Thanks man, she's the only lady I have in my life right now so I treat her like a queen. I don't just let anybody ride around in her, especially some pretty boy who hasn't proven himself yet, it's only by the General's orders I let you," the Ace lieutenant said as Artie climbed inside.

"Guess I should feel privileged then," Artie chuckled as Rodrigo started the car up.

"As long as no Aces have died by your hand then you're innocent until proven guilty in my book. I at least owe you that much," Rodrigo said switching on the Fiesta 103 Latin station, currently playing "Corazon Espinado" by Santana.

"You don't give me shit, I don't give you shit. It's that simple in my book," the hired gun spoke.

"Sounds fair enough to me," Rodrigo nodded pulling out of the taco joint's parking lot.

"So what's on the menu for today?" Artie asked as the tuner blew through an intersection.

"The boss wants us to get a few cars," Rodrigo replied.

"Um…okay," Artie asked looking towards him in confusion.

"These just aren't any cars he wants us to get," the Ace mechanic replied, prompting Artie's gaze to narrow in demand of an answer, "He wants us to get a car from the Redcoats, the Hellcats and the Yardies. Don't know what he has planned, but I'm guessing it'll be something aimed at disrupting their alliance. Those guys are all tighter than a nun's pussy."

"I take it that's been something you guys have been planning out for some time?" Artie asked as they passed into the Yardie-held territory of Stoker.

"Fuck yeah ese, those guys are gonna be too much for us if they keep getting along the way they do. We gotta fuckin' do something about that if we're gonna be makin' it outta this alive in the end, what better way to do that than to have them murdering each other instead?" the Colombian replied.

"And then you guys swoop in and pick the bones, not exactly a bad idea when you're as pinned against the wall as you guys make yourselves out to sound," Artie replied.

"Its' the fuckin' truth man. I've seen God knows how many brothers dying over these past few months. Those bastards have really been stepping it up lately," Rodrigo answered as he came to the Blackball'd pool bar.

A Voodoo lowrider was parked out front, carrying the green, black and yellow paint scheme associated with the Yardies.

"Alright, looks like we onto something, "Rodrigo said pulling his car to a halt around the corner and popping the trunk, "knowing how the Yardies roll, where there's one there are certainly others close by. I got a little something in the trunk for you to use if it comes down to that. Once you get the wheels, follow me back to Lincoln Shore. We've got a couple storage lockers behind that Aegean Greek café place where we can store them."

"You got it," Artie said climbing out and making his way around to the trunk, where he found two Ruger SR-556 carbines waiting for him. He looked around to see there weren't many streetwalkers around and grabbed one of them along with a few clips before slamming the lid shut.

The hitman peeked around the bar's corner to see nobody coming and he quickly rushed over to the Voodoo, swinging the carbine's stock to shatter the driver's side window and quickly climbed in. Reaching down he proceeded to hotwire the car and within seconds had it going, switching the Rasta 106.9 station over to Radio GX, playing "Take Cover" by Mr. Big.

He rounded the corner and pulled up behind Rodrigo, honking the horn signaling he was ready to go.

The Style SR shifted into drive and Artie followed close behind all the way back to the Lincoln Shore district without incident. Artie was eventually led to the Aegean Café, where the Ace lieutenant would take a right turn leading him into the alley alongside the building and straight to the aforementioned storage lockers, leaving him to carefully park the Voodoo inside.

"One down, two to go," Rodrigo nodded as Artie climbed back into the tuner.

"So where to next?" the errand boy inquired as they pulled back into traffic.

"There's a place over in Jansport I know a lot of the Hellcats like hanging out at. If we're lucky we'll find some of them creeping around there and if we're even luckier, they'll be too drunk off their fucking asses to fight back," Rodrigo replied as they made their way towards a district Artie was somewhat familiar with.

Taking another unmolested drive the duo soon found themselves in the Hellcat-held territory of Jansport, immediately happening across a few of the tan-clad gang members who were in the midst of delivering a beat down to some older fellow outside of the Rollio Records, yet didn't have a car with them.

"Okay, get ready we're not too far," Rodrigo spoke up as they moved down one of the district's main streets, watching as a tan-colored Dukes came into view and made a right turn into a parking lot.

Lo and behold they had arrived at the Jack Doff Bar and Grill, a small green building that stood out like a sore thumb amongst the weathered tan, gray and white-colored buildings around it. The parking lot teemed with a multitude of tan-colored vehicles, mostly Dukes and Slamvans, as well as some Hellenbach GT's.

Artie and Rodrigo were practically entering the lion's den, usually the absolute _last_ place he would ever want to be, but if him gaining some new allies could be the end result then for now he would deal with it.

Fortunately there were no Hellcats outside at the moment and the duo exited the tuner. Not concerned about being picky Artie made his way towards the nearest Hellenbach GT and was about to smash the driver's side window when the Ace stopped him.

"Holy shit man, check this out!" he hissed waving the errand boy over excitedly towards a Slamvan parked near the building.

Artie barely stifled a grunt of annoyance as he grudgingly made his way over, but would nearly gasp as he looked through the van's porthole.

Inside was an entire shipment of weapons, mostly shotguns and submachine guns, but also carrying a few assault rifles, boxes of grenades, Kevlar vests and even two RPG launchers!

"Score," Rodrigo half-shouted excitedly and struggling to contain his glee with his discovery.

"Hey, it's one of those Ace bitches!" a voice called out.

"Get the fuck away from there!" another shouted followed by the pumping of a shotgun.

Not even needing to be told what was happening Artie dove for cover behind an Ingot station wagon, one of the few vehicles whose owner was not affiliated with the Hellcats, raising his rifle and firing a volley that sent both Hellcats diving for cover.

The gunfire had attracted their allies and within seconds the bar's windows were being smashed and the Hellcats inside were sticking the barrels of their weapons out and firing upon the invading duo.

"We were planning on hunting you bitches down, but it looks like you did the job for us!" the shotgun-toting Hellcat laughed maniacally before pumping his shotgun and firing a round that sent Rodrigo scampering behind a Lokus.

The other Hellcat focused on Artie, taking cover behind one of his gang's Dukes and firing a barrage before bolting behind a neutral Hakumai to fire another.

Artie peeked out to return fire, only to be cut down as one of the Hellcats inside shot at him and he ducked just before the bullets could connect.

"As if you Aces couldn't get any fucking stupider!" the Hellcat taunted before he was forced back into cover.

Artie peeked his head back up looking to see a Hellcat wearing a black beanie taking aim at Rodrigo and he raised the carbine, squeezing off a three shot burst that sent the man collapsing onto the window's frame with his arms hanging limply downward.

With that threat dealt with Artie looked over to see another Hellcat making a break for the Slamvan and fired off another barrage that sent the man tripping down the short flight of stairs and connecting with the pavement face first.

With the car in front of him taking excessive damage the errand boy pushed himself back to his feet and went to take cover along the exterior wall closest to him, only to encounter two Hellcats who had been attempting to launch a surprise attack from the bar's backdoor, finding themselves cut down in a flurry before either of them could squeeze off a single shot.

Slipping in through the backdoor Artie was able to get the jump on a few of the Hellcats that had been aiming out the windows, cutting down one with a round to the back of the skull, a second with three additional rounds and a third man with two bullets that succeeded in mortally wounding him. A fourth thug had been hit, but the Ruger clicked empty before Artie could finish him off.

"You and your Ace boyfriend are dead motherfucker!" an unseen Hellcat shouted before there was another exchange of gunfire with the aforementioned lieutenant outside. It had given the hired gun precious seconds to reload and he peeked around the corner of a partition where two Hellcats stood, one focused on him and the other on Rodrigo.

Before he was forced to retreat Artie had noticed a fire extinguisher on the wall near the Hellcat aiming at him and he waited for the man's gunfire to subside before peeking out and firing a burst in which his final bullet would penetrate the red tank, spraying both men and leaving him open to take down the gangster firing at him while the other would fall from one of Rodrigo's bullets outside.

"Quick, get the Slamvan!' he heard Rodrigo shouting from outside and the hitman made his way through the front door to find the Ace lieutenant struggling with two more Hellcats that had been passing by in a Dukes and now taking cover behind their muscle cars as they traded gunfire.

Artie raised the Ruger and fired away at the attacking Hellcats, managing to wound one of the men while Rodrigo dropped the other. There was no time to finish the job as they needed to get out of there before more of those bastards could show up and right away he was bolting for the Slamvan and smashed the driver's side window open, climbing in and hotwiring it. Within seconds he had the truck running and blasting Evanescence's "Going Under" on the radio, honking the horn to tell the Ace he was ready to go.

In spite of the resistance endured at the bar, the trip back to the Ace's storage lockers once again went relatively well, aside from the worried stares of a few pedestrians as they watched two shot up vehicles passing by.

Within moments they were arriving at the storage unit and Artie was parking the Slamvan into the unit next to where he had parked the Yardie-owned Voodoo.

"Hell yeah, this has been our lucky day," Rodrigo said, finding himself near drooling at the sight of all the firearms in the back, "We're gonna blow all those fuckers to Kingdom Come faster than when the Tijuana whore goes down on one of those donkeys at those shows."

"Whoa, you said we're not done with the task yet. Sounds a little too early to be declaring victory if you ask me," Artie replied helping him pull the garage door down.

"Don't know man, I woke up feeling pretty damn good today for some reason…then again it could be that whore from last night," the mechanic chuckled making his way back to his Style SR.

"Probably something you'll be needing to get the topical cream out for pretty soon," Artie scoffed climbing back inside.

Rodrigo ignored the comment and turned up the radio as "Machucando" by Daddy Yankee came on and hooted out the window to a couple Aces walking by, all of them shouting back in solidarity.

Now all they needed to do was obtain a vehicle belonging to the notorious Redcoats and given their large presence on the island he assumed it wouldn't be long before they found one for whatever Darius had been planning.

"Alright holmes, we shouldn't be-" Rodrigo was in the midst of speaking just as a bullet pierced the front windshield, taking out the rearview mirror and sailing directly between the two men.

Artie raised the rifle looking ahead to see a quartet of Redcoats running towards them, soon followed by three of their red and white Clovers with a Burrito taking up the rear.

"Motherfuckers," Rodrigo shouted bringing the tuner to a halt and attempting to back it up, only to hear more screeches from behind.

Artie looked into the rearview mirror on his side to see two more Burritos speeding into view.

"Shit, they're trying to box us in!" he shouted, but it was too late as one of the Burritos had already succeeded in ramming the smaller street racer from behind, rocking it harshly and sending both men lurching forward.

"Ahh! Fuckin' A motherfuckers!" the Ace mechanic cried out as his body was rocked by shockwaves of pain, his spasms inadvertently saving his life when he lurched to the left, avoiding a cluster of high power rounds that tore apart his head rest behind him.

Raising the Ruger in the confined space Artie let loose a volley upon the attackers in front of them, showering the car's interior with spent casings.

"Ahh, watch it with that thing!" Rodrigo screamed, finding himself deafened by the rifle being discharged in close quarters and yelping even harder as the white hot expended casings made contact with his exposed skin.

"You're gonna be sorry, Aces bitch!" a voice shouted from next to the hired gun and before he knew it, he was finding himself being whipped across his face by a cold, metallic object and then thrown to the ground, assailed by numerous pairs of feet.

It suddenly hit him that he had totally forgotten about the thugs who came at them from behind.

_"How could I have been so stupid?" _he thought to himself before crying out in pain, struck by the butt of another assault rifle.

"Why can't you Aces just fucking die already?" a thug shouted before delivering another butt smash to his lower back.

Artie could hear Rodrigo's cries of pain from a distance, yet was left in a similarly helpless predicament.

"This is the end of the road for you and the rest of those blue balling bitches!" a Redcoat thug taunted, "When we're done with you, we're gonna string both your bitch asses up and show Darius and the rest of those cocksuckers what happens when you mess with the Redcoats motherfucker!"

"Fuck that shit man, why don't you cut 'em up? Send 'em back in pieces!" another voice called out.

"Hey Moto, you got that chainsaw with you?" a third voice called out.

"Never leave home without it!" yet another voice called out, this one giving off a demented, snake-like hiss that allowed Artie to feel the venom dripping off every little word he had to offer.

"Let's find us someplace a little more private. Don't want the fuzz showing up and ruining all the fun," called out a more authoritative voice. Before Artie knew it, he was finding himself grabbed by the scruff of his hair and forced to look the speaker in his dark eyes, a bald-headed man with a thick bushy beard to compensate for the lack of hair on his head, one that almost made him look like a biker, that or a Viking.

Artie could only grunt in pain as he was grabbed beneath the arms and the blue skies of the not-so-great outdoors would be replaced by darkness as he found himself dragged into a nearby abandoned building and thrown onto the ground, a battered and bloodied Rodrigo lying just inches away from him.

"You think we should tie 'em up?" a mousey voice spoke up.

"As bad as we've fucked them up, nah!" the bearded leader replied, "Hey Moto, you got that baby ready just yet?"

"Hold your fuckin' horses," Moto shouted back, "Goddamn and you all think I'm bloodthirsty."

So was this really how things were going to end for Artie Cappelli? Was he going to end up mailed back to the Aces in pieces, the recipient of a closed casket funeral? Would he even be sent back to anybody period, instead turned into some vicious guard dog's meal? What would Gino and Zeke do without his assistance? Would they end up falling before Johnny?

_"C'mon Artie, you know you can't beat me!" _the venomous loan shark's voice called out, _"Whatever made you think you and some stupid wetback could fucking pull off something my own deceased grandmother could have done in her sleep? Hell, maybe I'll console that whore you pal around with by fucking her myself!"_

The sneaky bastard's strident bark was suddenly drowned out by the roar of a chainsaw and Artie rolled over onto his back to see the Redcoat called Moto standing tall over him with his household gardening tool turned vicious weapon roaring and ready to cut into a fresh victim, the blade stained by the dried blood of its previous victims and the long dried chunks of their shredded flesh pelting its next intended kill.

"Heh heh, you got some meat on your bones boy. I might have to save some of you for a midnight snack!" the chainsaw-wielding madman cackled in a manner akin to a horror movie serial killer.

_"No way Artie, you're not going down like this," _the logical side of his mind told him, _"It's gonna be a cold day in Hell before you end up inside some nutcase's belly. There won't be any cavalry showing up to save your sorry ass. Fucking do something!"_

Out of desperation the hired gun shot his hand out and gripped onto something solid, something with enough weight behind it to actually hurt somebody.

A brick!

Scooping the small block up the hitman flung it with all of his might, catching the madman in the groin and causing him to drop the motorized saw onto his own forearm.

Empowered by the mad Redcoat's deafening shrieks of pain, Artie forced himself back to his feet and tackled the group's leader to the floor as his cohorts watched the horrific spectacle in stunned silence.

Tackling the bearded man to the floor with a double leg takedown, Artie quickly scooped the same brick he had used to subdue the chainsaw-wielding madman and brought it down on the man's face.

"Gah! Don't just stand there! Help me!" the man screamed before being struck again.

Rodrigo had found a perfect opening as the Redcoats stood entranced by the bloody spectacle of their teammate having his own hand sawn off just below the elbow, the torrents of blood spraying in every direction, his skin turning as white as a sheet, his screams of agony…all too much for them to turn their eyes away.

Kicking his leg out the Ace lieutenant took one of his red-clad adversaries from his feet and then mounted the man, bringing his knee down into the man's groin before wrapping his hands around his throat and bashing his head into the concrete.

With his captor incapacitated he reached down and scooped up the man's Remington shotgun, pumping it and firing a blast into the side of another Redcoat and then dropping the colleague next to him with his thigh and knee torn apart by the following buckshot, a wound he would soon bleed out from.

It was the dual blasts which had finally snapped the remaining Redcoats from their trance and got them raising their guns at their mortal enemy.

After what must have been the hundredth strike there was a loud crack as the leader's skull crumbled beneath its encasement of flesh and with it, Artie finally dropped the bloodstained brick.

It was by then the gunfire had resumed and he looked over his shoulder to see two Redcoats collapsing next to their maniacal colleague and the other red-clad warriors raising their weapons to return fire.

Noting the powerful Colt Anaconda that had been concealed in the leader's blood red trench coat, Artie scooped it up and fired a round that caught a dark-skinned man in the back of the neck, obliterating much of the flesh and bone and leaving it almost hanging by a few strips of tendon before he hit the floor.

The hired gun's battered wrists and arms throbbed from the powerful gun's recoil, yet it could do little to deter Artie as he struggled to protect the Ace, who had now taken cover behind a metal crate that barely provided any cover.

Artie took aim at a beanie-wearing thug armed with a TEC-9 and squeezed the trigger again, a round punching through the man's side just beneath his arm and likely piercing his lung. It didn't stop there as he fired a third round into the side of another bald man's shiny chrome dome, his brains spraying from a newborn hole onto a nearby colleague who would fall as the distraction left him open to one of Rodrigo's shotgun blasts.

Another red-clad hoodlum took notice of the shots fired from the opposite direction and spun around, but it was already too late as his stomach was perforated by a round which left him falling to the ground screaming in pain, another death soon to follow.

"You're gonna pay you fucking cocksucker!" screamed a lanky Redcoat in a red tanktop and track pants with a matching do-rag, firing upon Artie with an AK-74 and forcing him to take cover behind a long dormant piece of machinery.

The hired gun was down to two rounds after having his Ruger taken away from him and from what he could see it would be him and Rodrigo against seven remaining Redcoats. Once again he was going to have to think of something fast if he wanted to save himself and the Ace.

It was then he was finally able to take notice of his surroundings, finding himself in what appeared to be an old shipping warehouse and he looked up to see a pulley overhead with a load suspended in place by a rusted chain. He couldn't tell what it was, but it was something big and he figured it could be his only chance at evening the playing field.

Taking a deep breath, the hired gun managed to steady his aim in all the chaos around him and pulled the trigger.

A tiny clink went unheard beneath all the gunfire as the bullet connected in its one in a million shot and the payload was sent falling towards the earth, crushing two Redcoats that had been so caught up in their mission to snuff out their hated archrival.

The deafening crash rattled the remaining gangbangers, rooting one man to his spot in fear and making him an immobile target for the Ace mechanic's shotgun blast, nearly separating the man's upper torso from his legs.

Another Redcoat attempted to avenge his fallen comrade, only to be put out of his misery but the last two rounds from Artie's powerful revolver. So caught up was the hired gun in his mission to take down the man in front of him he had forgotten he was now out of ammo with no means to reload. Once again he had fucked himself over as three Redcoats remained.

Or had he?

Lying on the ground was the still revving chainsaw that had been the psychopathic Redcoat known as Moto's 'baby,' the blade coated in the fresh blood of its former owner turned latest victim.

Artie bolted over and scooped up the chainsaw, raising it above his head and letting out a mighty roar that would have made Peltface proud.

The nearest Redcoat had seen the hired gun approaching and was fumbling for a fresh clip for his AK-74, but Artie bolted towards the man and drew the moving blade across his stomach, creating a deep rend that soon left his intestines spilling out.

"You sick fuck!" another Redcoat shouted, just before he felt to a shotgun blast to the sternum compliments of Rodrigo.

That left only one Redcoat left and the man had expended all of his rifle ammo and became separated from his sidearm when the payload fell from above. He was in a bad position and left to scramble for any kind of improvised weapon he could get his hands on, forced to settle for a rusted pipe wrench lying on a nearby workbench.

"You're wrong; it's the end of the road for _you_!" Artie said with a shit-eating grin crossing his face, revving the engine menacingly.

The Redcoat looked back and forth between his options, one an Ace, a member of his most hated enemy's tribe, wielding a shotgun and the other some mysterious fellow palling around with them who was armed with a chainsaw and here he was armed with just a pipe wrench, a large weapon that under different circumstances would have made him looking like the bigger badass in the whole equation, but against two men carrying stronger weapons he was just a sitting duck.

"T-Th-This isn't over!" the man blurted out dropping the wrench and whirling around on his heel towards the nearest exit.

"C'mon ese, we gotta get outta here," Rodrigo said grabbing the errand boy by the shoulder and dragging him towards the entrance.

Artie dropped the still revving chainsaw and followed after without a struggle, stepping back onto the street to find all of the Redcoat cars still left parked haphazardly around Rodrigo's Style SR.

Additional Aces had arrived on the scene, two in a Vigero and four more in a Washington, and were engaged in a back and forth gunfire with the remaining Redcoats.

With his shotgun nearly out of ammo Rodrigo reached down to grab an AK-74 lying near a freshly deceased Redcoat while Artie scooped up an SWD/Cobray Street Sweeper near another man and took cover behind a shot up Clover that would be far beyond repair and thus worthless towards the completion of Rodrigo's assignment, but would still provide good cover as Artie popped out to drop a Redcoat that had been unaware of his presence.

"Shit, there's more of them!" a Redcoat tried calling out to his colleagues, only to be cut down by a barrage from Rodrigo's newly-acquired AK-74.

Artie switched his sights and took down a Redcoat that had been reaching for a Molotov cocktail before taking aim upon another red-clad hooligan and driving him straight into the sights of an M-4 carrying Ace.

"Who's the bitch now?" Rodrigo shouted as the shoe was now on the other foot and it was the Redcoats who were boxed in and being massacred left and right.

It was when Artie wound fire two shells into a tall muscular Redcoat in a blood red basketball jersey that the skirmish would conclude.

"Fuck yeah! The Aces always win you fucking pricks!" Rodrigo shouted to a freshly deceased rival, kicking the dead man hard in the side before adding insult to injury with a glob of saliva to the face.

Artie refrained from joining in the post-battle gloating, instead focusing on the red vehicles parked at haphazard angles. Most of them had been too far shot up to be of use, had their tires punctured, or were already smoking and on the verge of blowing up with the next barrage fired in their direction, unless Rodrigo truly was the master mechanic Kato made him out to be, or unless the Aces would have the money on them to carry out the said endeavor.

He found a Clover that aside from being side swiped by the Ace-owned Washington, having its windshield shattered by gunfire and being covered in a few splotches of blood, was largely undamaged and would have been usable for the 'General's' unnamed task.

With a nod to Rodrigo the hired gun made his way over to the muscle car and climbed inside, thankful he wouldn't have to waste precious seconds hotwiring it thanks to the keys still being in the ignition and feeling even more fortunate that they had been stopped in the Kasich district which directly adjoined Lincoln Shore, meaning it would be a shorter ride back to the storage units and within mere moments the hired gun was pulling the newly-acquired Clover up to the said location.

"Hey man, that was some good shit you did back there," Rodrigo said walking over and shaking hands with Artie, "I'm definitely gonna be putting in a good word for you with Darius. You earned it."

"Eh what can I say? All in a day's work," Artie nodded in reply.

"Whoa there cowboy, you ain't done yet. Remember, you still got two more tasks to go after this," the mechanic replied, "But I'd say this is a sign of good things to come."

Artie nodded and pulled out his cell phone to dial the number given him by Darius.

"Hey Darius, Rodrigo and I got those cars like you wanted. We just delivered the last one."

_"Wow, you actually pulled it off without running away like a little puss, guess you're not as bad as we thought. For once Kato's ramblings might have some sort of sense behind them," _the Aces leader laughed heartily.

"Yeah, now what's my next test?" Artie demanded.

_"I need you to get over to the University district right away. Our treasurer Zivah is going to need help with an assignment so I need you to get your ass over there as soon as possible. She's usually pretty laid back, but for some reason really needs someone to get hopping."_

"The University district? That's a little too far outta your normal boundaries isn't it?" the errand boy asked.

_"You aren't here to be asking questions boy, now just get your ass over there," _Darius shot back before the line went dead.

"Hmph, not the first time I've had somebody withholding shit from me and sadly it won't be the last," Artie ruefully sighed making his way around to the front of the café and finding himself enticed by the aromas from within, but decided to forego the distraction for the sake of not wanting to piss off the waiting lieutenant.

_"Christ Artie, you said you'd avoid getting caught up in this kind of bullshit and now look at you. You're becoming someone else's bitch and you're not doing a damn thing to stop it. Thought you'd be over that shit once you got the hell outta Liberty," _the voice within him spoke.

"Later," he muttered to the unseen voice making his way over to a silver Primo parked in front of the Aegean and smashing its driver's side window open. Not taking much time to hotwire it and turning up the radio's volume, its station set to The Traveler 107, which was currently playing some upbeat Celtic tune that seemed to somewhat distract him from the current goings on as he made his way for the next lieutenant.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Okay there's been a little change of plans people. The rewrite of this chapter has definitely been longer than expected and I would include the tests Artie must go through with the other two Ace lieutenants, but then that would probably lead to this chapter being more than 40 pages long and I don't think many of you would be able to get through that all in one sitting, unless you're hardcore and are willing to keep a bedpan and pillow nearby.

Right now I am almost having a paranoid suspicion that I might have to make three different installments for each test Artie must go through since I'm getting the feeling that I might be bitten by the "Epic Chapter Syndrome" bug and throw in a whole hell of a lot more than I expected.

I would have waited until I completed the other installments before posting this online, but I figured why should I bother keeping you waiting? I'm not a fan of the thought of angry townspeople beating on my front door with pitchforks and torches in hand waiting to string me up because I kept them waiting far too long.

Now onto the other random mumbo jumbo, the guys Zeke and Co. are slated to go up against being based out of Reddick, Florida is taken from what was the original home of V-Rock as set in "Vice City Stories."

Malevolent Deceased is a spoof of the "Evil Dead" series starring Bruce Campbell and Peltface is a spoof of Leatherface from the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" series.

Moto was inspired by Motor Runner from "Fallout: New Vegas" and I brought him in because I needed an excuse for Artie to use a chainsaw on somebody, which was definitely one of my favorite weapons to use in the GTA games and has been on my 'to do' list for quite some time with what goes on in this fic.

The Big Bends that appears in the Gold Digger is an actual in-game car that appears in GTA: London 1961. It is a two-door convertible sports car based on the Mercedes-Benz 300SL and my decision to have it in the main room like that is inspired by the death car from the Vikki and Vance Casino located at Primm in "Fallout: New Vegas."

Okay, in addition to telling you to read and review this is also typically the part where I say "SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME," but I can't do that just yet seeing how this chapter isn't technically finished…sucks I know.

Oh well, now onto Part 2!


	28. Three Aces and a Joker, Pt 2

Author's Note: Okay since I was in a rush to get the last chapter out since I wanted to do so before I went to bed there were several notes I missed out on.

This mission is inspired by the "Three Kings" mission from "Saints Row 2" in which the Boss had to perform different tasks for Carlos, Shaundi and Pierce all in one sitting.

The first part of this mission with Artie helping Rodrigo steal cars belonging to rival gangs is inspired by "Gang Car Round-Up," an optional side mission Claude could carry out on behalf of the Uptown Yardies in GTA3 in which he had to steal a Diablo Stallion, Yakuza Stinger and Mafia Sentinel all for them and deliver them to their secret garage.

Darius McLaren, the 'General' of the Aces is basically a bald version of Ice Cube in regards to his physical appearance. Regarding the other higher-ranking Aces mentioned in the last chapter, Sala is inspired by Jimmy Blood from the long forgotten "Ready 2 Rumble" boxing game that used to be on Sega Dreamcast, Jason Rivers is sort of inspired by Nightwolf from the Mortal Kombat games (with shorter hair and minus all the mystical abilities), Koji is inspired by Yuu Tanaka, one of the Japanese survivors from Dead Rising 1 who was also intended to be inspired by the NCR field medics you could encounter at Camp Forlorn Hope and Bitter Springs in "Fallout: New Vegas," Mickey and Ollie are inspired by Carter and Dawes, both Powder Gangers from New Vegas (their merchant and doorman respectively), Lexie by Princess Kitana also from Mortal Kombat, Philly by the professional wrestler known as Low Ki (a.k.a. Kaval in the WWE), and then Rodrigo is meant to be a cross between Joseph Price and Donnie from the first SR in regards to physical appearance. I also forgot to mention this earlier in regards to Kato, but physically I would say he is largely inspired by M. Shadows, the front man of Avenged Sevenfold.

Okay, I hope that's everything out of the way so I can get on with the story now!

Chapter 28: Three Aces and a Joker, Pt. 2

"Alright, where the hell are you woman?" Artie asked darting his head back and forth between both sides of the street, trying to make use of the little information he was given.

It was nearing the early evening hours and by now a majority of the college's students had been let out for the day, thus ensuring the streets would be packed to no end.

Thankfully the gridlocked traffic had enabled him to scan the passing streetwalkers more carefully and as expected saw mostly young women, but how could he manage to pick a gangbanger out of the 'normal citizenry' clogging the area.

He passed a Beaver's restaurant, where several jocks pummeled away at a hapless fellow dressed in a Brady Beaver costume while their girlfriends cheered them on, yet they looked like your typical ditzes who were more worried about finding the next shoe store to max out their credit card at rather than battling a rival gang.

Situated across the street was a Mainline Books bookstore and out front a local women's group was in the midst of carrying out a protest against Mayor Walker's plans to cut equal pay for women, limit their access to contraceptives and also do away with the free cancer screenings carried out at the local Dr. Tweeter's Fun Time Abortion Clinic.

_"Granted they do seem militant," _Artie thought to himself as he noticed the group's leader barking out orders through a megaphone, _"yet at the same time too 'peace and love' to be gang members," _he added, noticing how the other women stood around holding placards, but doing nothing else, _"then again, don't know if they're on their periods or not."_

The errand boy moved further along spotting a few women lugging shopping bags and window shopping, chatting on cell phones, or lounging about and as he passed the university itself he noticed a lawn where the cheerleading squad was in the middle of practice, but no one who struck him as a potential gang member.

He continued further down the street until he happened across the Jackin' Jill's Diner and found a dark blue Pony van parked out front and a young woman seated on a bench near the front entrance typing away on a laptop.

She was short and slender, having slightly tanned skin which suggested possible Hebrew ancestry, with long curly black hair with a blue headband keeping it out of her eyes. Aside from the headband she also wore a blue midriff top that showed off her toned abs, blue jeans with numerous tears in them, blue sneakers and black fingerless gloves, exposing fingernails that had been painted a matching dark shade of blue as everything she wore.

_"That must be her," _Artie told himself parking across the street and making his way towards her.

"Are you Zivah?" he asked.

"Hold on one second, I'm just finishing a bleet," the woman said keeping her eyes glued to the screen before hitting the 'Enter' key, followed by an electronic ding. "Okay done, yeah you're talking to Zivah. I take it you must be that Artie guy they were talking about earlier?"

"Yeah, you're looking at him. So Darius says you need some help with an assignment, right?" he asked as the woman closed her laptop.

"Sure thing, get in," she said motioning towards the van, "You're gonna have to drive though. I'll explain in a bit."

"Whatever you say," Artie replied climbing into the driver's seat as the Ace reached over to switch the radio station t Rasta 106.9, playing "Buffalo Soldier" by Bob Marley and forcing the hitman to stifle a grunt. He hated reggae music.

"Alright, so what's on the agenda now?" the hitman asked as they pulled out into traffic.

"We're going to be making a 'withdrawal' from the Imperial Bank of Rushmore. If we're going to beat the Redcoats and their bitches then we're sure as hell going to need a whole lot more money than what we have right now," the Aces' treasurer replied.

Artie took a peek over his shoulder, finding a sleeping bag, some empty beer bottles and a few small nondescript boxes lying around, "So where's all the big guns and funky costumes for that? Not to mention the extra manpower we should be packing."

"We're not going to be robbing the bank itself genius," Zivah replied with a roll of her dark eyes, "With as limited manpower as we have right now they'd wipe the floor with us. We're not that fucking suicidal," she said reopening her laptop, "We're gonna be hitting one of their trucks. From what we know so far it should be making its rounds somewhere around this area."

"And just how exactly do you know which truck to hit?" Artie sprung as a heavily-armored green and white Securicar with a Gruppe 6 logo on the side drove past them.

The blue-clad young woman turned her laptop's screen towards Artie, who stole a peek to reveal a GPS layout of Jefferson Vale's streets and a blinking red dot moving down one of the longer routes.

"Some guy I used to fuck works in the main office and lately he's been feeling pretty disgruntled with his boss, so I convinced him to sneak a tracking bug on the truck carrying the largest shipment. This red dot you see is that truck moving along and we need to get to it before it gets back to the main branch office over in Washington Common," Zivah explained.

"Anything else I should know?" Artie asked as they pulled up to a stoplight.

"Well it's a Securicar so obviously it's well-armored, so obviously we can't just shoot it up. We're gonna have to ram it up good until the punk ass inside bails out. Mason told me this particular driver is pretty skittish, so it could either play in our favor or against us, only time will tell. Once it's all said and done, we need to get it back to the headquarters," she further explained.

"Gotcha, although it's gonna be one hell of a long ride from here to Lincoln Shore," Artie replied, but then again remembered he had Randy's phone number in speed dial if need be. The little turd owed him one for nearly getting him killed the other day, all because he just had to boast of some menial, dead end job that the hitman could give two shits less about, one where he'd probably only be around for a week or two given his shitty luck.

"So how did you end up in the Aces if you don't mind me asking?" he asked in an attempt at making small talk.

"Eh, accounting school wasn't doing the thing for me so I decided to 'change careers' so to speak and now here I am. Sure, this job doesn't have any health or dental, but it sure has the excitement," Zivah casually replied.

"Can't say I disagree with you there," Artie chuckled, "I'm not really office material myself, unless it involves me getting to bang the secretary in the copy room."

"Hmmm, doesn't sound like a bad idea at all," she replied with a wink.

They exited the University district and made their way into neighboring Osbourne Dale, passing a recording studio where more of those tough, black-clad punks hung out, faces he knew he had seen before.

"More of those Crimson Matters rejects," Artie scoffed as he witnessed one of them in the midst of tagging the King's Diamonds jewelry store.

"They're called the Brood and they're not as much pushovers as you might think," Zivah replied, "I used to date one of Vile Crud's roadies, the whole band belongs to the gang. I've been there while they shot it out with those trust fund assholes from Gold Valley. They really know how to bring the pain, guess writing songs about dismemberment and the horrors of Hell somehow makes you tougher and more desensitized to the actual violence."

"Looks like there's quite a few of 'em," Artie remarked noticing quite a few of them hanging around the Margera Skate Park.

"Relax, they're cool. As long as you don't start shit with them they leave you alone. It's mostly members of the Mars Pentecostal Church coming over here to cause trouble for them," the treasurer replied, sighing out the church's name.

"Aren't they those guys who picket all those military funerals?" Artie asked, remembering stories about them from Weazel News, VBC and practically every other news outlet in the United States.

"That would be them – holy shit, that's him!" Zivah suddenly shouted pointing wildly at a passing Securicar, one that looked just like any other in Rushmore City, yet stood out like a sore thumb to the treasurer.

"I'm on it," Artie said jerking the wheel and lurching the van into an abrupt spin that cut off an oncoming convertible and speeding towards the heavily-armored transport truck, slowing down so he and Zivah wouldn't go flying through the windshield.

"Brace yourself," he instructed before ramming into the truck's rear bumper.

The truck swerved after being struck from behind and the skittish driver sped up, right through an intersection and plowing through a taxi with a powerful knockout blow that crumpled the smaller vehicle like a soda can.

"Oh god no…they're out to get me…again," the flappable man whined, his trembling hands leaving him unable to keep the truck in a straight line, causing him to pull up onto the nearest sidewalk and nearly run over some members of the Brood, who naturally didn't take too kindly to that and began firing upon the truck as well.

Stepping on the gas Artie again rammed the truck's rear end, causing the driver to jump and clip a nearby parked Patriot, following up with another ram that sent it knocking over an ice cream stand and yet another that sent it crashing into a parked Stallion, flipping the muscle car onto its roof.

"Oh God! What did I ever do to piss you off so badly? Is this because of me saying no to Father Deebs wanting to show me that hamster he kept in the confessional?" the driver whined just as the truck rocked again, causing him to shake the wheel violently and leave him bobbing back and forth between lanes, causing more cars to swerve out of his way.

"Damn this fucker," Artie shouted as he swerved to avoid a Contender that itself had moved abruptly to avoid the bank truck.

"Just don't pussy out and you'll have the bastard right where you want him!" Zivah cried out excitedly.

Artie said nothing and sped up until he was again on the truck's tail, smashing against it repeatedly before pulling alongside it and trying to force it into more parked cars, creating a ripple effect of stationary vehicles being shoved into the street and onto the sidewalk as the Securicar was forced into them.

Eventually the truck came to a T-junction and was forced right into a group of bikers, plowing through each of the grubby men like dominoes and slamming head on into a tree, finally forcing the driver out of the cab.

"Oh god, my life is so shit!" the man screamed as he bolted far away from the scene of the accident.

"Alright, now's our chance," Zivah cried out as Artie brought the van to a halt and jumped out with her and she rounded the dark blue vehicle to throw the back doors open and begin digging through the boxes.

"Then what's your fucking hold up?" Artie demanded just as he could hear the roar of more motorcycle engines and turned to see another brigade of angry bikers rapidly encroaching upon their position.

At the front of the pack was a burly bearded man with horns attached to the side of his helmet, designed to make him look like either a Viking or a demon, whose barrel chest made it easier to see the patch embroidered to the front of his vest, one of the Grim Reaper riding a skeletal horse.

The Children of Chaos, sworn enemies of the Luciferian Brotherhood!

"Payback's got your name on it boy!" the man hollered withdrawing a sawn-off shotgun and firing a blast which sent Artie tossing himself against the Pony to avoid it.

"Damn it," Artie hissed knowing he was once again left in a tight spot. Because he had been brought there at the last minute he hadn't had time to obtain a bigger gun or a bulletproof vest, leaving him nearly nude.

He was sent slinking further along the van as a biker on a Nightblade sped past firing away with an Ingram MAC-10, another man following up on a Daemon with a sawn-off shotgun.

A line of bikers began to circle the hitman, forcing him into precarious cover as they pelted the Pony and the Securicar with gunfire, leaving him no room to fire back.

"Welcome to Hell!" the gang's leader cackled, only to find his chest riddled with bullets that hit him hard enough to send him flying off his bike and then rolling backwards like a bowling ball, breaking up the even line his buddies had been moving in.

Artie turned to find Zivah emerging from the Pony's cargo area with a HK53A3 assault rifle in hand, firing another burst that traveled along one of the men's Wolfsbane and eventually struck him in the thigh, causing him to fall to the pavement and be crushed by his own ride.

"Here, take one!" Zivah said tossing him a rifle along with a Kevlar vest, "I figured there'd be some schmucks who'd wanna throw down, plus I brought a shitload of grenades along too!"

"I like your thinking," Artie called back with a nod of approval, _"Perhaps I might be able to find some friends in this group after all."_

Zivah resumed her counterattack against the rampaging bikers, managing to drop another man in a barrage of screaming lead before her gun clicked empty and she grasped frantically for a new clip.

Artie was now covered and ready to join the fight, striking the front tire of a Wayfarer that sent the biker clattering to the ground and crushed by his own bike.

The remaining bikers dismounted their motorcycles and were taking cover behind whatever was available, the sounds of battle sending pedestrians fleeing in all directions.

"The Children don't forget! Kill one of us, you got all of us to answer to!" shouted a man with long fiery red hair matched by a shaggy beard that felt to his considerable gut.

Artie ignored the man's threat and continued firing away until his clip ran dry and he was forced to reload, a bullet ricocheting dangerously close to his head and sending him collapsing to the ground.

Zivah saw his predicament and rose to provide cover, managing to snipe down a guy peeking out from behind a fountain before she was forced back into cover.

It had been enough for Artie to scramble behind the Pony for cover and stick his rifle's barrel out, dropping a bald-headed man with a three shot burst to the chest and mangling the arm of the man next to him, sending him falling to the ground screaming and writhing in pain.

He was pissing through ammo at an alarming rate and all of the dead bikers were too far away from him to loot their corpses, soon to find himself in another sticky situation.

Suddenly, he remembered the grenades Zivah mentioned and bolted towards the Pony's cargo area, throwing the back doors open and leaping inside to find an entire crate. Feeling as if Christmas had come early, he scooped up as many as he could and took cover just in time to avoid another barrage of firepower aimed at his head.

"Hopefully this'll make them scatter," Artie whispered to himself before pulling the pin on one of them and chucking it around the van.

"Oh shit, grenade!" a biker shouted as he attempted to run away. The grenade exploded behind him and the grungy man was sent airborne by the blast, slamming his head hard against the pavement with a sickly splat.

Artie didn't wait for the smoke to clear and chucked another grenade towards the Children, managing to kill two in one blast and critically injure another. Emboldened by the results he wasted no time chucking a third, which failed to hit anybody, but did blow up a parked Daemon and sent an already deceased biker's body flying into the air.

Seeing what he had done to the bike an idea popped into his head as he saw a cluster of motorcycles parked closer together. Pulling the pin on a fourth grenade he tossed it and sent it rolling along the ground to land at the foot of a Nightblade. The grenade detonated and took the motorcycle with it, followed by a chain reaction that created one spectacular ball of fire.

"Damn, you sure know your way around those babies…I like that," Zivah remarked before nailing another biker with a round to his groin and then finishing him with a blast to the throat as he buckled over.

The wail of police sirens resounded in the background and through the pillars of smoke the hired gun made out the flashing of blue and red lights.

"Shit, we've gotta get going," Artie said tossing a few more grenades wildly before bolting towards the Securicar's opened door and pulling himself inside, waiting for Zivah to join him before shifting the armored truck into reverse and inadvertently flattening another bellicose biker.

Pulling away from the scene of battle he looked out the window to see several police cars speeding into view and swerving to a halt, their officers jumping out and exchanging gunfire with the remaining Children.

"Alright, looks like the pigs are more worried about them," Artie said pulling away from the scene and speeding up, ejecting a self-help C.D. that was playing on the truck's C.D. player and turning the channel to Radio GX, which was currently playing "Milligram Smile" by From Autumn to Ashes.

Zivah nodded remaining on guard with her HK53A3 ready in case there were any more threats nearby. Once they were far enough away from the sirens and gunshots she relaxed, "That was some pretty badass shooting back there."

"Eh, I do what I can," Artie replied trying to sound as modest as possible.

"Guess we'll be having to do more work with you in the future if you can keep this stuff up," Zivah said as Artie allowed the truck to halt at a stoplight, noting that everybody seemed to be minding their own business for once.

"Don't know how much longer I'll be here, but yeah I'll need the money," Artie replied looking out the window and watching a woman trying to fight back against her abusive boyfriend.

"So you're not from around here, huh?" Zivah asked as they pulled into the Lakeview district.

Artie did not reply immediately. The trip took them past Donnie's condo and he could see his cousin's Banshee parked in the driveway, along with a '08 Pfister Comet, a Grotti Turismo and a '92 Bullet, suggesting he had company.

_"Either they're some of his 'friends' he's always rambling on about, or just some random ladies he's fucking left and right," _Artie thought, until he suddenly remembered the woman had asked him a question and he was snapped back to reality.

"No…no I was just passing through when that shit went down over at Churchill International, so I'm stuck here for the time being. Once the blockade is lifted I'm probably gonna be getting the hell outta here and never looking back. I haven't been here long, but I've seen enough shit already to know I don't want this being my new home," Artie replied bluntly.

"Yeah, that's kind of how it was for me too," the treasurer replied, "but next thing you know, one thing led to another and here I am now, a part of the Aces. Guess you could say this city has a way of drawing you in."

"Heh, now you're starting to sound like my cousin Donnie, except you seem to have your libido more in check than he does," Artie laughed.

"Well that can be subject to debate once I've had a few too many to drink," Zivah replied with a wink as he approached the ramp that would take them back to Lincoln Island.

Artie was about to reply, but then stopped himself remembering Gladys probably wouldn't like that, and instead continued driving along until they were entering the Kasich district adjoining Lincoln Shore, where by now most of the Redcoat bodies had been cleaned up and some flatbed Recovery tow trucks were seen lugging away the charred husks of the destroyed vehicles.

Instead he focused on making his way towards the Aces home base and it wasn't long before they were pulling up to the storage units behind the Aegean Café. He waited for Zivah to exit the truck and go over to open one of the garage doors, then waiting for some Aces to show up and start emptying the money in the back.

"A job well done," Zivah remarked, "Give us a call next time you need some help."

"I'll definitely hold you to that, but I think I still have more work ahead of me," Artie replied pulling out his cell phone and dialing Darius' number.

"Darius, we got the truck taken care of. Your boys are unloading the money as we speak," the errand boy reported as he watched the Aces continuing their work, the truck carrying much more money than expected.

_"Hell of a job," _the Aces leader remarked, _"Alright, now that you've got that taken care of I need you to meet up with our enforcer Rex. He's waiting over in Camden Heights so you shouldn't have a hard time finding him."_

"Alright, I'll see what he wants done," Artie said before switching his phone off and making his way over to a dark blue Washington to begin his next objective.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends part 2 of "Three Aces and a Joker," which I've decided I'm going to make into three separate parts detailing each task Artie must carry out with the Ace lieutenants, so it's obvious this chapter is going to be much shorter than most of my works my readers have come to expect.

And now onto the randomness…

Zivah is the latest Ace to be introduced and she's basically my take on a Jewish, bisexual version of Shaundi from Saints Row 2 and ever since "the Third" has come out I've decided to splice in a few elements inspired by Kinzie Washington with her having excellent computer skills.

The scene with the women's group protesting Mayor Walker's policies outside of Mainline Books again alludes to some real-life political happenings going on here in Wisconsin, where Scott Walker has recently repealed an equal pay enforcement law where women were to be guaranteed the same pay as their male counterparts and he's also been very hostile towards the access to contraception since he's one of those hardcore pro-life douches who opposes abortion even in cases of rape, incest or the mother's life being at stake, and lastly them being pissed off at Dr. Tweeter's Fun Time Abortion Clinic for doing away with free cancer screenings reflects upon the recent backlash against the Susan G. Komen Foundation after they recently decided to do away with free cancer screenings that would have been provided by Planned Parenthood, just the kind of stuff you'd expect a women's rights group to protest about.

This task was inspired by the "Van Heist" mission assigned by Joey Leone from GTA3.

King's Diamonds is a reference to King Diamond, who has served as the frontman of both Mercyful Fate and his own self-titled band.

The Mars Pentecostal Church is meant to be a spoof of the Westboro Baptist Church. They are inspired by Pastor Richards, the corrupt televangelist guy from "Vice City" who was trying to raise funds to have a giant statue of himself erected and then launched into space. Mars is an allusion to Mars, Alabama where he is listed as coming from and I figured since he reminds me of Fred Phelps in some senses why not give him his own kooky congregation?

Well I think that's all for random notes to be made and so now it's time for me to get onto the third installment of this chapter!


	29. Three Aces and a Joker, Pt 3

Author's Note: And so here comes the third installment of "Three Aces and a Joker," my first multi-part chapter in the story, which I'm honestly hoping doesn't become a regular occurrence seeing as how I like to get all my shit done in one sitting.

Oh, and also to make a few shout outs beforehand:

**shadowkidd93: **I'm glad you've been enjoying this story so far and I honestly haven't given much thought to possibly doing a Saints Row-based fic because I've been so drawn in by my current projects, but I guess I wouldn't entirely rule it out. In a way, this probably could be considered a Saints Row story if you're willing to surgically remove all my O.C.'s and inputting actual SR in-game characters.

**LordFrieza: **I honestly haven't watched "Scarface" in its entirety, but I have heard about the scene which you refer to and also hear of how it is alluded to in Vice City with Apartment 3C. I always loved using the chainsaw when I could and really wanted to do a scene incorporating it; hence I gave Artie the excuse to cut up some Redcoats with it.

**Native Gunz: **I know, I know you're probably feeling like a john not getting his money's worth since I am admittedly the WORST in the world when it comes to responding to requests regarding reviewing stories, but I will try.

I honestly don't know if Vanessa will have a larger part in the story or not, I just really needed an excuse to have a hot naked black chick in my story…yes that is me being your stereotypical perverted white guy when I type that out…

I don't know if I would really consider Boomer a Southerner or not, but more so some people could naturally assume he is some kind of country bumpkin based upon the way he dresses. Again, he's supposed to be inspired by Norman Reedus' portrayal of Darryl Dixon from "The Walking Dead," and he himself dresses like he's some kind of redneck survivalist too. I just wanted the Preps in "Blown in 60 Seconds" to have some excuse to make hillbilly jokes and naturally since they're a bunch of ignorant, upper class snobs they would naturally be ones to jump to conclusions and judge him based upon the way he dresses, like how some might automatically assume a person is a Satanist because they wear all black or a gangbanger because they wear hoodies and have their baseball caps turned around.

I would say the Children of Chaos are to an extent inspired by the Hell's Angels yes and the Luciferians are supposed to be inspired by this multicultural biker gang I heard of a while back called the Black Sabbath MC, whom I believe were started in California and were initially comprised entirely of black members, but then grew to accept members of different cultures over the years. Admittedly I do have them including non-white members as a means of making them seem more sympathetic compared to the Children and the Whiteskins.

Chapter 29: Three Aces and a Joker, Pt. 3

Artie was now back in Camden Heights, having been forced to abandon the Washington after barely outrunning some Redcoats who had spotted him as he made his way through Bellport. Deciding the risk wasn't worth it he had been on foot ever since, getting a decent workout in the process.

_"These people need to fucking tell me more if they're gonna work with me in the future," _he thought taking a right turn onto another street and pushing his way through a line of horny perverts waiting outside the XXX-Plosion Theater, keeping his eyes open for anything remotely resembling a possible Ace-owned vehicle.

He moved along the street ignoring the cat calls of a few prostitutes looking to claim their next 'sale' and the construction workers swooping in looking to take advantage of his wordless refusal, his eyes darting back and forth.

_"Next time they're gonna have to tell me where the fuck I gotta meet 'em at if they're gonna wanna do business with me," _Artie again thought to himself, feeling severely irritated and having to resist the urge to punch out a street hustler that was trying to call him over for some card game that was likely fixed to begin with.

"C'mon damn it," he muttered as he approached the end of the street knowing he was running dangerously close to the district's edge.

"Huh?" he grunted aloud as he happened across St. Malachi's Catholic Church, looking over to the parking lot to find a dark blue '84 Polaris V8 muscle car with gold trim rocking up and down.

"Hmm, that looks interesting," Artie said aloud walking towards the car, _"Definitely puts a new spin on confession."_

He waited for the car to stop rocking and his mouth suddenly fell wide open as a young nun climbed out of the backseat, readjusting her habit before accepting a large wad of cash.

"St. Malachi's parish thanks you for your generous donation," the young woman spoke as she sifted through the stack of bills, "Are you sure the condom held?" she asked the unseen occupant inside.

Stepping out of the back was a tall, muscular Caucasian man with his short brown hair shaved into a crewcut, wearing the typical Ace vest with a black muscle t-shirt underneath, a pair of camouflage pants, black combat boots and matching fingerless gloves.

He immediately recognized the man as the same machine gunner who had saved him, Zeke and Kato from the Redcoats assault at Gazangas.

"Those are Spartan Condoms I used, tough enough to withstand an army of 300, 000," the man chimed, sounding exactly like the spokesperson heard in all the commercials, "Besides if anything happens, you can say that it was an Immaculate Conception, that should bring you guys some extra money."

"Very well, I'll be on my way now," the nun said before disappearing into the church.

"You Rex?" Artie asked as the man pulled out a bottle of beer and consumed the rest of its contents before tossing it aside.

"Yeah, who wants to know?" the man asked eying him suspiciously before stopping himself, "Oh yeah, you must be that guy they were talking about back at the base, Artie right?"

"Yeah, that's me, nice to meet you," Artie said reaching over to shake the man's gloved meaty hand, "So what's on our agenda?"

"Get in and I'll tell you," Rex replied motioning towards his car.

Artie climbed into the passenger's seat and the Aces' enforcer fired up his car, blasting "I'm Alive" by Anthrax on 94.3 CSKD.

Once they pulled into traffic he started to talk, "Kato was telling us that you're some kind of badass with a gun, right? Naturally because he's a rookie, we don't take him seriously until we get to see you in action and if you're gonna want help from us you need to be able to give in return. I personally wanna see how much of a mean streak you've got and to do so, you and I are gonna hit up a Redcoat hideout not far from here."

"Well I've already killed quite a few of those fuckers and have witnesses to prove it, but I guess that's all moot right now. Oh well, I'm up for it after all the shit those bastards put my cousin through," Artie replied.

"I like your enthusiasm, but I don't like the thought of having to share some kills with you to tell the truth," Rex retorted as he nearly ran over a stumbling drunkard.

"Relax man, I believe in sharing," Artie jokingly replied.

Rex continued until he brought the car to a halt by a former Toyz N' The Hood distribution warehouse near the edge of the Camden Heights district, "This is the place."

Getting out of the vehicle the enforcer moved around to the back and opened his trunk to reveal two FN M249E2 SAW light machineguns and two fresh bulletproof vests.

"Fuck yeah, I like your style," Artie spoke with a hearty nod of approval.

"What can I say? I like everything big: my guns, my car's engine, the boobs of the whores I fuck, I ain't got time for any pussy small caliber guns! Now go ahead and take one of each. We're really gonna show those Redcoat motherfuckers how we do business," Rex spoke as he strapped on his Kevlar vest and one of the machineguns to make sure it was fully loaded and fine working order.

Once Artie was suited up it was game time and the two were prepared to unleash hellfire and brimstone upon their unsuspecting prey.

The duo crept along the decrepit building's outer wall with Rex on point, carefully scanning the area for any guards. The Redcoats would know the area and therefore wouldn't be stupid enough to have members flashing their colors as plain as day, instead opting for them to go the 'undercover' route.

So far all they spotted were an emaciated junkie sleeping on a soiled throw rug and a hobo in the middle of chasing a stray cat with a rusted pitchfork, more worried about scoring his next meal than keeping lookout for any intruders, neither enough to be considered a threat to them.

With no visible threats in sight they made their way towards the nearest door and listened for any sounds from within, hearing only some faint hip-hop music.

"Alright, those shriveled nut sacks are definitely here. Remember like I said, you leave nobody alive. These bitches aren't worth sparing, they'll just get more of their goons and come back for you if you let them," Rex explained and with a nod kicked the door in.

The two gunmen found themselves in a loading dock with a few trademark Redcoat Burritos and a few Mule box trucks, a few hired hands in gray industrial jumpers standing around, but springing to life once the two men made their presence felt.

Most of them barely had any time to react as Rex began firing away with his machinegun, cutting down several men in one destructive hail of gunfire, rendering most of their trucks useless as well.

The gunfire caught the attention of some Redcoats who had been in the adjoining room and they emerged with shotguns and submachine guns drawn, yet most of them too would fall in shredded heaps of mangled flesh.

_"I thought this was supposed to be my time to prove myself," _Artie thought as he squeezed his S.A.W.'s trigger and began cutting through some of the Redcoats who had managed to avoid Rex's initial assault, some of his bullets eventually finding their way to a cluster of flammable barrels and creating a small explosion which immolated one of the nearby members.

A feral cry came from the hired gun's right and he turned to see a homeless junkie attempting to ambush him with a crowbar, but Artie was quicker and tripped the man, sending him falling face first to the concrete floor and then firing a round into the back of his skull, leaving behind a few tiny ragged strips of flesh.

By now most of the Redcoats were on full alert thanks to the gunfire and had been given time to reach for their weapons and were returning fired, but doing little to faze Rex.

"C'mon you goddamned fucking Redcoat pussies! Gimme a reason to sweat goddamn it!" he shouted as he tore into a rival gangster's chest, the man firing his AK-47 into the ceiling as he fell backward.

The enforcer continued firing away like a madman possessed until his machinegun jammed on him.

"Aw fuckin' A! Not now damn it!" he grunted as he was forced to take cover behind a heavily dented metal crate.

"Gonna rain down the fury of the heavens upon you!" another bum shouted making a suicidal charge towards the Aces' enforcer with a baseball bat in hand, only to be cut down by a disemboweling blast to the torso by Artie.

"Demons of Hell, I beseech thee be gone at once!" another delusional junkie shouted raising a fire axe high above his head, only to find his torso separated from his legs a second later thanks to the hired gun before some Redcoats showed up and Artie too would be forced to take cover as the red-clad thugs began ganging up on him, leaving him room to only pop out and quickly squeeze off a few rounds before retreating behind some metal crates.

The crack of machinegun fire sounded, telling him Rex had finally managed to fix the jam and was back to raising hell alongside him.

Seeing another opening, Artie stepped out and began tearing through more Redcoats, continuing until he took a three shot burst to the chest, knocking him back a few steps and winding him. He was still alive, but it hurt like a bitch and made it hard for him to raise the machinegun. He seriously wished he would have had some kind of sidearm on him right now.

"Stupid me," he grunted as he tried to retreat, forcing himself to fire a few more rounds to temporarily deter the Redcoats from following after him. As he backed down he noticed the AK-47 of a fallen rival and temporarily dropped the S.A.W. in favor of something lighter.

Seeing another Redcoat charging towards him he fired a burst into the man's side, wounding him severely, but not killing him. One of his friends was on hand to continue the assault, but would fall after taking a round straight through the heart. Looking over to see how Rex was doing, he found the enforcer had deployed his gun's tripod and was quickly chewing through his chain of bullets.

"Ballsy fucker's gonna get caught with his pants down," Artie whispered, noting he would probably soon be out of ammo as well.

Taking aim the errand boy fired a round through the shoulder of an attacking Redcoat and sent the man fleeing for cover while blood gushed rapidly from the wound. He then looked to the catwalk above to see more red-clad adversaries approaching and trained his aim upon another explosive barrel, finding a round that blew it up and burned one man alive while sending the other airborne and landing on the floor below with a bone breaking impact.

The rifle now out of ammo, Artie felt a little better and picked up the S.A.W. just as Rex finished off another Redcoat with a chest ripping barrage that vomited his perforated organs onto the floor before him.

"That's not the last of these pricks. There's gotta be more around," he shouted before charging into another room, only to find himself ducking behind another stack of crates as more Redcoats opened fire.

Artie lugged the S.A.W. into the adjoining room and found himself in what appeared to be some kind of makeshift drug lab where a few more hobos fought alongside the Redcoats, most of them armed with regular handguns as opposed to the shotguns, submachine guns and rifles of their employers.

"I'm a one bum army bitch!" a filthy man in a tattered plaid coat called out raising a Sig-Sauer P226 before two thirds of his face was blown away by a blast from the errand boy's machinegun.

There were twice as many assailants in this room, but there was also twice as much combustible material present and Artie fired away at one of the barrels, which destroyed several workstations in a small chain reaction that killed at least seven Redcoats and bums combined.

"That's how you fucking do it!" Rex screamed as he managed to cut down two hobos and a Redcoat before igniting some more explosive materials and destroying most of the equipment around it as well. The Aces' enforcer continued firing until his chain finally ran out and seeing a dead gangbanger lying nearby, picked up his AK-74 to continue the fight.

Artie continued firing back and forth with his attackers, managing to drop five additional Redcoats and two bums before his S.A.W. finally ran out of ammo and he too would be forced to scavenge the bodies for firepower, picking up an AK-47 off of a red-clad corpse and a Beretta M9 from a deceased vagrant, praying the latter didn't have any kind of diseases creeping on its surface after seeing how filthy its previous user's hands had been.

"If you cocksuckers are going to hire help, at least hire somebody who knows how to use a fucking gun!" Rex shouted before shooting out the kneecaps of a lanky vagrant and sending the man falling over the catwalk's railing, "And who knows how to use a fucking shower too," he added before gunning down a toothless woman whose Glock jumped out of her hands just as she attempted to fire upon the enforcer.

Artie ignored his companion's comment and quickly cut down a taller Redcoat who wielded a light machinegun similar to the ones they brought in, viewing him as a greater threat than the drug-addled hobos serving as their hired help, most of them likely too high or too far into withdrawal to be able to shoot straight or even squeeze the trigger.

Both men continued firing all the lab's inhabitants were dead and all of the equipment was destroyed.

"Is that it?" Artie asked.

"Don't know yet, we gotta sweep this place from top to bottom," Rex replied happening across a Redcoat barely clinging to life, finishing the weakly man with a hard kick to the skull that likely snapped his neck.

The duo eventually made their way into the building's office area that was being used as a makeshift armory and to their surprise found two more M-249's, along with an MP5 and some ammo which Artie took, and an AMP Automag Model 180 and some accompanying ammo Rex would take.

"Shall we?" Artie sardonically asked as Rex pushed past him and into the building's cafeteria where a few more strung out junkies resided.

"The master commands us to defend the castle!" a hobo armed with a spade called out attempting to take a swing at the Italian-American, but was heavily inebriated and missed him by a mile, leaving him open for a barrage which blew his stomach wide open and allowing his intestines to come spilling out.

The poorly-armed vagrants were no match for the two heavily-armed men and within seconds, they were all reduced to a pile of ragged bloody strips on the filthy floor.

"Heh, I could've killed all these fuckers in my sleep," Rex spat harshly, until Artie raised his submachine gun and fired over his shoulder. He turned around to see a hobo had been attempting to sneak up on him with a box cutter in hand, but was now left to gurgle as three fresh holes punched their way through his sternum.

"You were saying?" Artie chuckled in reply.

"Fuck it, let's just find everybody else and kill 'em all," Rex said resuming his aggressive temperament.

"You're the boss," Artie nodded following him back into the main corridor, where another Redcoat attempted to ambush them, only to be shredded by more light machinegun fire.

The duo made their way into another wide open room where more drug equipment was left haphazardly guarded by a few inept bums that would quickly fall before the duo's combined might.

"They must not have cared much for this place to allow a whole bunch of bums to guard it like they did," Rex spoke nudging a fallen man whose stringy gray hair crept out from beneath a sullied beanie.

"You said it, look," Artie said motioning to a whole bunch of satchel charges left lying in an opened crate.

"Heh, no use in sitting around just looking at them," Rex said eagerly scooping a few up, "Let's blow this shithole off the face of the earth!"

Doing as he was told Artie scooped up the rest of the satchel charges and together they began scouring the building for random intervals they thought would provide the greatest chance of bringing the entire building down.

Pushing his way through the men's locker room Artie would eventually find a boiler room and plant the first of his satchel charges in a narrow alcove between a large boiler and a smaller control console.

"Yaaaaahhhhh!" a feral cry suddenly came from behind and Artie looked up to see a massive shadow enveloping him, ducking his head just in time to avoid a hatchet blow that would have surely severed his spinal cord.

The hired gun looked up to see a tall, balding overweight man in a soiled Hawaiian shirt standing over him with a rusted hatchet in hand, frothing from the mouth like a rabid dog. The hellfire of insanity burned in his dark eyes as he raised his blade to go for the next blow.

Artie shot his foot out and buried it deep in the man's groin, following up with another strike and a third until the crazy man finally relinquished his grip on the hatchet and then scrambled for the Beretta, raising it high and emptying five rounds into the maniac's chest.

"Fucking freak," the hitman spat raising his handgun and pointing it in all directions to make sure there were no other crazies lurking in the darkness waiting to ambush him when he least expected it. When he heard nothing aside from the scurrying of rats he made his way back through the locker room and into the main corridor.

His next stop was what had once been the decommissioned warehouse's computer room, the room lined with outdated computer consoles that had now collected dust over the past few years, an entire cloud of it nearly blinding him when he accidentally knocked over a swivel chair. Shrugging off the temporary distraction he planted the bomb in the center of the consoles and then quickly made his way out before he could be overcome by the dust.

There were still two bombs left and he would need to find suitable spots for both of them-

"I spy with my little eye," a low, sinister voice called out from behind and the hired gun whirled around to find himself met by a hobo covered in leathery patches of skin and shaggy gray hair, an eye patch covering his right eye and a crude hammer constructed from an iron pipe and large chunk of concrete held together by vinyl tape in his hands.

"Spy this bitch!" Artie shouted raising his gun and firing a bullet through the man's remaining eye, not in the mood for putting up with any more shit from the red-clad thugs and their drugged up lackeys.

The hired gun made his way further down the hall and into a room that had been filled to the brim with flammable cleaning chemicals, a perfect spot.

Kneeling down he set the charge alongside a shelf and quickly got the hell out of there to find a spot for the fourth satchel charge, looking around frantically for any stragglers as he bolted down the corridor and soon found himself in a larger room with more drug-producing workstations set up. He quickly ran over and planted the last charge in a spot between two tables littered with equipment and noting the volatility of the situation, quickly sprinted back into the corridor only to nearly collide with Rex.

"There you are! For a second there I was thinking you'd decided to get cozy with those hobo bitches running around here," the muscular man laughed harshly.

"Ha ha!" Artie sarcastically retorted, "All charges are primed and ready to go," he reported.

"Alright, let's blow this shithole off the face of the earth," the Aces' enforcer said waving him towards the nearest exit.

The hired gun chased after his companion and they bolted outside past some oblivious junkies towards Rex's waiting Polaris V8, the big man delivering a forceful soccer kick to knock away a smaller man who had been attempting to steal the muscle car's rims.

They climbed inside and Rex fired up the car's engine. Appropriately enough, DragonForce's "Through the Fire and Flames" was playing on 94.3 CSKD as they raced away.

"Time for some Grade-A motherfucking fireworks," Rex spoke as he raised the detonator and pushed the button.

What followed was a massive earth shattering explosion that blew debris hundreds of feet into the air and left behind a mushroom cloud that would likely be seen even from the city's farthest corners.

"Oh fucking yes!" Rex laughed hysterically as they watched the towering inferno from a safe distance.

Artie couldn't help but join in, by far the largest explosion he had seen during his time in the city, even dwarfing the freighter being sunk as he and the Luciferians hijacked that weapons shipment.

More sirens filled the air, one of them recognizable as that of a fire engine. Already a crowd of people could be seen gathering around to view the aftermath, many of them snapping photos with their camera phones. An RCNN-13 Maverick was also seen approaching the spectacle, following after the R.C.F.D. Armadillos leading the charge.

"I think it's time we get the hell outta here," Artie said as several police cars came speeding into view and their officers leapt out to push the overzealous onlookers back.

"Normally I hate to run from such a beautiful sight, but for once I've gotta be inclined to agree with you," the enforcer replied, having been checking out the ample backside of a blonde in skimpy shorts that exposed her hot pink G-string underneath.

Due to the increased police presence Rex was forced to take the longer way around Camden Heights to drop Artie off in front of The Little Black Book.

"Alright, well it was good working with you man. For once Kelly…I'm sorry Kato," Rex said forcing back laughter, "…wasn't pulling shit out of his ass. You really were a badass motherfucker back there," the enforcer said extending his gloved hand.

"You're too kind, and then again, I see why they made you the enforcer," Artie replied returning the handshake.

"No problem, we're definitely gonna be having some work lined up for you in the future. I'll be damn sure to put in the good word for you with Darius," Rex said before pulling a U-turn and making his way back for Lincoln Shore.

Artie turned around and made his way inside the bar, only to find Zeke, Iceman, Randy and Dal all glaring daggers towards him with their arms crossed.

"Where the hell have you been?" Zeke demanded, sounding like a father who had sat up all night waiting for his teenaged son to come home from a friend's house well beyond curfew, "I told you we needed refreshments for the big battle tonight!"

"Yeah, how the hell do you expect us to lay the smack down on those 'Red Dicked losers' if we don't have some fucking booze in our system?" Iceman added.

"And chips and salsa too!" Randy chimed in.

"Yeah man, what the hell gives?" Dal asked.

And then it suddenly hit him, he was supposed to get some beer for their game tonight.

"Oh shit, I'm terribly sorry guys! I was out running some errands and-" Artie tried explaining, only to find himself cut off.

"Errands for somebody else," Zeke shrugged, "What the fuck gives man?"

"It was the Aces alright. Kato pulled up just as I was going into Swigger's and said their 'general' wanted to talk to me," Artie retorted.

"But that still doesn't excuse the fact that you don't have our fucking beer man!" Iceman growled clamping down on the counter digging his nails into its wooden surface.

"Okay fine, fine I'm going to get some!" Artie replied disappearing back through the front door with his hands raised defensively and then jogged over to the liquor store, wanting to get down there before anybody else could suddenly stop him.

_"Jeez, some fucking people around here," _he thought shaking his head as he finally made his way inside Swigger's.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so concludes the final installment of a three part chapter! Whew…finally!

This chapter with Rex is inspired by the "Burning Down the House" mission from Saints Row 2 in which you had to blow up that Sons of Samedi drug lab that if I remember correctly, pisses off The General (not Darius!) enough to the point he slices off Mr. Sunshine's ear with the machete.

Rex is meant to be a crossover between Johnny Gat from SR and Ajax from "The Warriors," in the sense of him being a loudmouthed borderline psychopath who is always quick to resort to violence rather than properly strategizing.

The line he utters about Spartan Condoms being "tough enough to withstand an army of 300, 000," is inspired by the real life Battle of Thermopylae in which 300 Spartan soldiers took on what was estimated to be around 300, 000 Persians.

I figured I'd rather have him fucking a nun in the reboot rather than a prostitute just for the sake of making things seem "more wrong" than they should be. LMAO!

The crude hammer the one-eyed bum carries is inspired by one of the improvised weapons David King can create in "Resident Evil: Outbreak" and naturally being a bum, he's not gonna have the money to access to some more conventional melee weapon or firearm.

Well I think that covers everything so until then read and review as always! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/ (Which I can do now that this chapter is OFFICIALLY over!)


	30. Seeing Red

Author's Note: Once again I was so eager to get something out before I had to head off to work that I forgot to include one vital detail.

In regards to the perks Artie can get from his friends, I would have it where similar to where if you decide to spare Dwayne Forge in GTA4 and get his likeability high enough, you would get two heavily-armed North Holland Hustlers to come back you up. In this case I would have it where if Artie is on good enough terms with the Aces he would just have to give Darius a call and they would send an entire car full of heavily-armed backup when things get too tight. I'd probably also have a friendship activity with them being where Artie can actually go over to the Gold Digger and hang out with them since their hideout is pretty spacious.

Chapter 30: Seeing Red

It was high noon and Artie was enjoying some lunch after just getting out of the shower, consisting of some tasty Hawt Sacks and a can of Funkin' Screw while watching the 12 o'clock news on RCNN-13.

The current scene was of firefighters sifting through the smoking wreckage of the former Toyz N' The Hood distribution warehouse while a reporter's voiceover played in the background.

_"There is still no exact cause known behind the massive explosion that rocked the Camden Heights district yesterday afternoon, but with the numerous bodies and drug manufacturing equipment found inside it is suspected that it may have been related to gang-based activity. Authorities are refusing to comment on who could have possibly been involved, although local residents believe the Redcoats could have had a hand in the matter, when asked for comment this is what they had to say."_

The scene then switched over to a Burger Shot where several of the red-clad gangsters were shown pushing their way out of the fast food joint.

_"Get that fucking camera outta my face!" _one of them snapped before withdrawing a blackjack and striking the cameraman, causing the camera itself to fall to the ground and the scene to cut to static before the live feed cut to another locale showing Cora Ricardo standing outside the Superstar Café.

_"I am standing here outside the Superstar Café in Sawyer Gardens, where just hours ago there was a shooting involving what were believed to be members of the Banditelli Family Mafia and the Enlightened Path Triad," _she explained as police officers stood before lines of yellow police tape to keep bystanders under control while paramedics were shown wheeling gurneys carrying covered bodies out of the restaurant and not too much further crime scene technicians were shown photographing a shot up black, white and gold Stinger. Just as she was about to interview an officer on the scene Artie had gotten bored and began shifting through channels until he happened across a soap opera.

_"Next time, one 'One Load to Blow,'" _an announcer's voiceover spoke from the background just as the scene cut to a couple in the throes of passion.

_"Yes Chandler, I will suck your hard, throbbing cock and let you cover me in your baby gravy, but first there is one confession I must make," _the woman spoke just as ominous organ music began playing in the background, _"I'm really your sister!"_

"Yeesh!" Artie said slamming down on the button to change the channel, feeling himself almost throw up inside his mouth until he happened across the Homegrown Purchasing Vision channel, currently broadcasting their 'Combat Corner' segment, where a short man with a horseshoe of frizzy red hair around his head, hawk-like nose, thick black-rimmed glasses and a soiled lab coat was in the middle of showing off a unique blade.

_"Now this here is a beauty I call the 'Dilkri'," _the man spoke in a thick Eastern European accent, proudly displaying a device which had the blade of a typical kukri curved knife, but with a handle shaped like a dildo, _"the perfect combination of violence and pleasure all rolled into one!"_

The scene then switched over to the man standing before a torso covered in ballistic gel, the title bar at the bottom of the screen introducing him as 'Hans Wankenstein.'

_"Now you see, with the Dilkri all you need is skill, precision and a deft hand of speed as you go in for the kill," _he explained before hacking away at the torso, leaving it a bloody mess, _"You see, slight, deadly and quicker than a Bangkok whore going down on a horse cock," _he explained before turning his attention towards a shapely brunette lying on a nearby bed.

_"And then when you've eliminated your enemy in the most gruesome manner possible, you can go home and pleasure your wife," _he explained before inserting the handle inside the woman and pushing a button which made it vibrate, forcing her to scream out in pleasure, _"Consider this to be the perfect weapon for a single woman living in some rancid shithole like Liberty City or Los Santos, let the bidding begin at $99.95!"_

Artie shook his head and changed the channel, cycling through a soccer game, a few more soap operas, a rerun of Princess Robot Bubblegum and some televangelist's inane ramblings before happening across a reality television program with a familiar face.

A balding blond-haired man with a bushy '70's porn star' mustache appeared on the screen and he instantly recognized him as Lazlow, the notorious D.J. who formerly hosted Chatterbox FM and then Integrity 2.0, standing outside the Grand Imperial Dragon Comics shop in LaFollette surrounded by several people dressed in Medieval-era costumes, an overhead banner indicating it was the annual 'Magic & Monsters Convention.'

_"My god, you seriously mean to tell me people your age still dress in lime green underwear in broad daylight? No wonder you're all still a bunch of virgins living in your mother's basements!" _Lazlow said getting into the face of a man dressed in a green and gold jester's outfit.

_"Sire, you dare to defile the good name of our mortal realm?" _another convention attendee asked, dressed in a piecemeal suit of armor made from plastic, cardboard and Papier-mache and carrying a fake morning star and shield, _"Be gone at once with you and your demonic kind!" _the man hollered whipping the TV host repeatedly with his weapon.

_"That doesn't even hurt! It's made of plastic asshole!" _Lazlow shouted before backing into a makeshift lance that ended up going 'where the sun doesn't shine.'

The sudden shrill of Artie's cell phone distracted him from the TV and he turned to pick it up, seeing that it was Darius calling and switched it on.

"What's up?" he asked reclining in his chair.

_"I just saw what you and Rex did on the news. Hell of a job against those Redcoat bitches, I'd say you've done yourself a good enough job to be blessed into our ranks," _the Aces leader boomed.

"It was an honor," the errand boy replied, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible while at the same time wondering, _"What the hell have I gotten myself into?"_

_ "Well glad to hear it, but I'm afraid there won't be much time for you to sit around and rest on your laurels. This war we're in is a day to day thing we're dealing with and we've gotta be on top of those backstabbing motherfuckers until only one of us remains. I need you to get over to the Gold Digger right away. We've got another job for you and I'll explain more when you get here," _Darius continued.

"Fine, I'll be over in a little bit," Artie replied before switching his phone off.

The hired gun was still clad in nothing but his boxers and he ran over to his wardrobe to grab a pair of blue and white track pants and a dark blue t-shirt before throwing on a pair of athletic shoes and then scooping up his Glock 22 and sliding it into his holster before grabbing a duffel bag and throwing in his SPAS-12 along with all the shells he could find.

Making his way down the back flight of stairs he approached the now cobalt-colored Sentinel, which had been repainted, had the windows repaired after being shot out, the license plates replaced, and had spent more than one day cleaning out the interior and delousing it after he had caught that rancid freak of nature Freda sleeping in the backseat, the thought of which still made him shudder in disgust and leaving him thinking that he may need to purchase a new car in the future.

Switching on his car he turned the station to Beatbox 102, currently playing "X Gon' Give It to Ya" by DMX and found himself caught in the middle of the high noon rush as he attempted to pull into traffic. Not giving a shit when he saw there were no cars coming from the opposite end, he pulled into the left lane and sped down Hymen Avenue, cutting onto the sidewalk to avoid an oncoming Flatbed that was transporting heavy construction equipment.

He had to wonder what Darius had in store for him today and what kind of action he would be taking against the Redcoats and their allies.

_"Whack some important member? Bomb another drug lab? Steal some of their most prized possessions? Fuck one of their girlfriends just to get them pissed off? I wonder what's up for today. More importantly, I wonder how much these guys are capable of paying for a job well done. Fuck, I almost wonder if I'm packing enough firepower," _Artie thought looking down to his duffel bag carrying the SPAS-12 and knowing how the Redcoats always traveled in a pack, knowing lots of firepower would be necessary as he looked out his window.

There had been a Remington lowrider in the lane next to him waiting at the stoplight, where the pimp inside chattered away on his cell phone while his ho', a barely legal Filipina looked uneasily towards him.

The screech of tires suddenly snapped the man out of his conversation and before he knew it, a Redcoat Clover was pulling up alongside him and the passenger was unloading a volley of automatic fire into him, showering the pimp's 'employee' in his blood and brain matter. Fortunately the Redcoats didn't appear interested in anyone else and sped along before the group of rubberneckers could gather.

It was of no concern to Artie as long as they weren't targeting him and he continued on his way to the Lincoln Shore district, where a few bikini-clad women milled about, as did some fishers, roller skaters and even a few people goofing around on some Quads out on the beachfront.

He pulled up outside the Gold Digger and made his way to the same door Kato led him to during his last visit. This time the doormen were much more accommodating and led him into the main club area where he found Darius, Rodrigo, Zivah, Rex, Kato, Sala, Philly, Jason, Koji, Lexie and a few others gathered.

"Hey! There's the badass mass murderin' motherfucker himself!" Rex called out raising his beer to greet the hired gun, followed by a few hoots and hollers from the lower Aces, Artie smirking at the compliment as he went over to shake hands with Darius.

"Good to see you again playa', have a seat," he said motioning towards a comfortable-looking armchair.

"So what's on the agenda today?" Artie asked looking around to those gathered, wondering if the number currently present was all that remained of the Aces street gang.

"We're going to be killing three birds with one stone so to speak. As you know, we're grossly outnumbered by those Redcoat bitches and their butt buddies the Hellcats and the Yardies. Right now if we tried to go head on with them, we'd be having to incur the wrath of all three factions…in other words, they'd wipe the fucking floor with us," Darius explained, drawing a disbelieving stare from the ultra-macho Rex.

"So how do you plan to 'remedy' the situation?" Artie asked leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Darius reclined in his chair and reached into a nearby cooler for a Blowenkoch, slamming it on a nearby table to break the cap off and taking a long swig before continuing.

"We need to find a way to dissolve their alliance and to accomplish that we're gonna need to do something that's pretty fucking hardcore," he replied before setting down his beer and looking down to his cell phone to see what time it was, "I ordered one of my boys to take out a Redcoat and bring us his vehicle intact. Once he gets here, I want you to dress up in the guy's clothes and then go around the Hellcat and Yardie controlled territories and raise as much hell as possible. I don't give a damn if you have to shoot 'em up, blow 'em up or run 'em over. We've gotta do whatever we can to get them murdering each other instead of us."

"And then when the smoke clears, you guys move in to pick the bones?" Artie asked looking over to some guns lying on a nearby craps table.

"Bingo," Darius replied with a snap of his fingers.

"Fuck this 'lone wolf' stuff you're gonna make him do," Rex said rising to his feet and hefting up his nearby S.A.W., "Don't you think we should at least send the guy in with some backup?"

"Normally I'd be inclined to agree with your way of thinking and even surprised at the fact that you're saying something other than 'roll in there and shoot 'em all up,' but at the same time I've gotta ask are you insane or just too fucking stupid?" Lexie asked getting in Rex's face, "They'd sure as hell know your mug when they'd see it after all the Redcoats you've slaughtered, what was the amount of that bounty they had on your head the last time I heard?"

"Not to mention you've got a record longer than a horse's cock, meaning you're more likely to lead the pigs right to our front door and I doubt there are many other places on this island where we can hide out," Zivah added, getting nods of approval from Kato, Rodrigo, Philly and Koji.

"Pfft! Pussies!" Rex growled in defeat looking over to Jason, whose expression told him he sided with the others, leaving the muscle man feeling even more deflated as Darius' phone rang.

"What's up?" the General asked his caller before nodding, "Alright, you got it here. Good job, I'm sending the guy out right now."

Darius then turned to Artie, "That was J.T., he's got what you'll be needing for this job, so you best get your ass out there and talk to the guy.

"I'm on it," Artie nodded making his way for the door.

"And make it fuckin' bloody, no pussy shit!" Rex called out, earning stares of disgust from Lexie and Zivah.

Outside a red and white Clover pulled into view, the trademark transportation of the Redcoats, and a tall man with his brown hair shaved closely to his head and wearing a dark blue jacket stepped out.

"You Artie?" the man asked.

"That would be me," the errand boy replied as the man walked over to shake his hand.

"J.T. Worth, nice to meet you," the man introduced himself before making his way towards the trunk of the car, where a few streaks of blood seeped out from beneath the lid. Pulling out a crowbar the Ace pried the lid open and right away Artie was knocked backwards by the rancid stench of the bludgeoned body of a Redcoat foot soldier crammed inside.

"Alright, we just need to get the clothes off this bastard and you'll be ready to go," J.T. said pulling out a baseball bat covered in dried bits of brain, the likely murder weapon.

"Wait, you're at least going to wash them aren't you?" Artie asked as some Aces came to help unload the body.

J.T. laughed nervously scratching the back of his neck, "I'm afraid not…heh heh…"

"What?" Artie screamed, "No fucking way in hell am I going to put another man's clothes on when they still have fresh blood on them! Absolutely no fucking way! I'm not that fucking sick!"

"Hey bro', I just did as I was told," J.T. said raising his hands defensively, "I was told to whack a Redcoat of a certain size and then bring his body and his car back, that's it. I was never given any orders to stop by a Laundromat!"

"Goddamn it!" Artie spat angrily kicking a trashcan over, "I'm so gonna have Darius' fucking head for this!"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Fortunately the clothes hadn't been as stained as Artie thought they would be and he was now clad in a disguise consisting of a bright red trench coat, black t-shirt, tan cargo pants, black combat boots, black fingerless gloves and a black bandana.

"Alright, I'm good to go," the errand boy said outstretching his hand to receive the Clover's keys.

"You know where those bastards hang out. Do whatever you have to get them hating the Redcoats," J.T. said opening his car door for him, "I never thought I'd be saying this, but just don't kill any Redcoats, we don't want you blowing your cover."

"I'll try not to," Artie replied before switching on the car and leaving it on the current station, Old School 97.3, in hopes of fitting in. He had no idea what these guys typically listened to and didn't want to give himself away by playing 94.3 CSKD, Radio GX or the Rock of Rushmore stations he usually listened to.

He made his way out of the Lincoln Shore district as "The Humpty Dance" by Digital Underground played on, noting a few Aces standing around outside an abandoned Ammu-Nation having a few beers. Normally he assumed they would have stopped everything to draw their guns the second they spotted a Redcoat vehicle on their turf, but he could breathe a sigh of relief for now knowing they had obviously been tipped off to his presence.

He entered the adjoining Kasich district where he noticed the pedestrians staring worriedly at him as he drove by, an obvious sign of how fearful they were of the actual Redcoats. It left him wondering if they viewed the Aces in the same apprehensive manner, unaware the blue-clad avengers might have actually been trying to look out for them compared to their self-centered red-clad adversaries.

Deciding to go with what was closer at the moment he passed through the Horgate district and was soon pulling into Little Jamaica, the Yardies' home base.

"Alright, where are you motherfuckers?" he asked aloud carefully scanning the horizon for any of the Jamaican gangbangers, seeing mostly vendors plying their trades at small booths set up on the street corners and a small reggae band set up in a nearby park.

Eventually he came across the Crimson Matters punk-themed clothing store, where a Yardie dealt drugs to some gothic teens outside. Pulling to a halt behind the man's Lobo he got out and waited for the deal to conclude before making his presence felt.

"Aw righty then, ya' bes' be on yer way nah!" the dealer said dismissing the teens before turning his attention to Artie, "Eh mon! How ya' be today?" he called out merrily, believing Artie to be a friendly face.

Taking a deep breath the hired gun withdrew his Glock and fired three shots into the dealer's face, sending pedestrians scattering in all directions. It had frightened them yes, but there were no other Yardies around to witness the cold-blooded slaying of one of their own.

_"There's gotta be more of those pricks around here," _he thought to himself noticing all the money the dead dealer dropped and quickly scooped it up for himself counting over three hundred dollars.

Climbing back into the car he sped down the street and continued about until he saw another Yardie outside the Morgana's Castle toy store attacking a man in a white rabbit costume. Speeding up the car, he cut onto the sidewalk and slammed head on into the gang member, missing the rabbit by inches and sending the Caribbean man flying high into the air, landing hard on his side and breaking his right leg and hip along with several of his ribs.

Artie got out of the car and found the Yardie barely alive, his leg bent at an awkward angle that left him wanting to throw up, the man looking up to him and reaching out weakly. Without mercy, the hitman fired a blast into the injured man's chest.

"Oh thank god!" the man in the rabbit suit called out, "Thank you so much! That guy thought I owed him money and he was trying to kill me!"

Unfortunately for the nameless man, Artie was freaked out by his costume and he cried out in horror, firing on instinct and striking him in the chest, painting the area of his white rabbit outfit a dark shade of crimson.

"Fucking rabbit!" he gasped, remembering how his cousin Raphael had ambushed him in a similar costume as a child, an incident which left him dreading Easter for years after.

"Eh, what cha' think ya' be doin'?" an accented voice called out and Artie turned around to find two angry Yardies marching towards him.

Without a word, the errand boy drew his SPAS-12 and fired a blast into the stomach of the Yardie closest to him, sending the man sagging to the pavement like a ton of bricks.

"Muthafucka' be crazy!" the second Yardie called out reaching for his sidearm.

Artie fired again, but this man was quicker and dove for cover behind a parked Glendale, grazed by a few shell fragments as he fell behind the car. He raised his gun and squeezed off a few rounds, shattering the glass behind his target. Before he could fire again, the disguised hitman fired another shotgun blast into his chest and the man was finished by the following crater.

"Hey, he be killin' our bruddas!" another Yardie called out emerging from a nearby massage parlor while struggling to pull up his pants.

Artie saw the man coming and fired a blast in his direction, but this man too would dive for cover and withdrew a MAC-10, popping out to fire a barrage before nearly tripping over his sagging pants.

The disguised errand boy dove for cover behind his Clover, the bullets pinging off its metallic surface as he shouldered his shotgun and withdrew the Glock. Raising the handgun he fired a few more rounds, missing his target before being forced to duck. He was preparing to fire again when he heard the thumping bass of a car stereo drawing closer and saw a Huntley Sport come fishtailing around a nearby corner. Rather than charging head on in an attempt to run him over, the S.U.V. came to a halt and its heavily-armed occupants stepped out.

"What the hell ya' be doin'? We're on ya' side, we partnahs mon!" the driver called out.

Artie ignored the man and again drew his shotgun, firing a barrage through the driver's side door, shattering the glass and catching the Jamaican thug in his face, throat and chest.

"You gon' be sorry traitah!" another Yardie called out as they opened fire simultaneously upon the hitman, forcing him around to the Clover's opposite side and finally giving him the needed opening to take out the gangster that had been in front of him with a salvo to his stomach.

Two of the Yardies attacked him with machine pistols while the other carried a Remington shotgun, all of them firing relentlessly upon the believed traitor.

Artie was pinned down, yet at the same time he smiled, hopeful he had just done irreparable damage to the Redcoat/Yardies alliance.

_"Now I've just gotta make it outta here alive so I can sit back and watch them paint the streets with each other's blood," _he thought firing another barrage and catching one of the men in his left kneecap. The Yardie screamed in pain, but continued limping towards him until he was finally put down by a flesh ripping torrent to the chest.

"You and ya' backstabbing bredren gon' pay!" the shotgun-toting Yardie called out before rolling for cover behind a dumpster and pumping off a few slugs in succession.

Artie waited patiently for the rival gangster to reload and as the man popped out, he stuck his arm out and fired a volley into his stomach, squeezing off an additional round into the man's head as he sunk to his knees.

One Yardie remained and he fired desperately towards the errand boy until his clip ran dry. Sticking his arm out, Artie fired blindly and grazed the man along his shoulder, forcing him to drop his gun.

He stepped out into the open and watched as the man bolted away from the gunfight. It was tempting to open fire, but Artie stopped himself knowing he would need the man alive so he could tell the other Yardies of the Redcoats' supposed treachery.

_"Oh yes, go tell your 'brothers.' I can barely wait to see the fireworks," _Artie snickered to himself climbing back into the Clover and gunning it out of Little Jamaica before reinforcements could show up.

Now that he had pissed off the Yardies his next destination would be anywhere he knew the Hellcats frequented, soon finding himself in the Jansport district.

"Alright, c'mon out you bitches," Artie whispered as he knew of the Hellcats' fondness for rock music and turned on Rock of Rushmore 89.5, which was appropriately enough playing Ted Nugent's "Cat Scratch Fever."

He moved along until he passed the Jack Doff Sports Bar and Grill, where he found two Hellcats in the middle of working on a Dukes' engine. Seeing them left in a vulnerable position, he raised his Glock and prepared to fire…until a police cruiser pulled into the parking lot a couple stalls over from the gang-owned muscle car.

"Son of a bitch," Artie cursed, slamming his balled fist into the steering wheel in frustration.

Coming to a halt at a stoplight he suddenly noticed the yellow icon on the display console coming on, telling him he would need to stop and get gas.

Seeing a nearby 24/7 he made his way in and pulled up to the nearest pump. Getting out he selected unleaded gas and unscrewed the gas cap, sticking the hose in and clicking it into place as the gas started pumping. With nothing better to do, Artie stood idly with his hands in his pockets, yawning in boredom as he looked around to observe the blue collar average Joes and Janes milling about on their daily routines. When the hose's trigger clicked to let him know the tank was full he resumed the task at hand.

_"Alright, gonna show the people around here that some gangsters are actually honest enough to pay for things around here," _he told himself as he entered the convenience store.

It was relatively quiet save for the background music and rattle of an unseen grocery cart being pushed around. A lone employee minded the register, looking as if he were on the verge of falling asleep. Aside from him there was an old woman sticking cans in a hand basket, an Asian man who chatted on a cell phone while sifting through magazines on a nearby rack and the cart pusher, who turned out to be a woman of Middle Eastern descent wearing the traditional headscarf.

Artie was about to pay for the gas and resume his mission when the electronic ding called out and he looked towards the sliding double doors to see four Hellcats strolling into the store, hooting and hollering loudly like they owned the place.

"That's nothing, the other day I shot one of those Ace bitches in the back of the head, fucker never even saw it coming!" a thug at the back of the pack called out.

The cashier sprung to life and stared nervously towards the tan-clad gang members, then taking notice of Artie's disguise and looking like he was about to wet himself.

The other patrons noticed the boastful gang members and hurriedly made their way towards the front counter, where the clerk attempted to go about business as usual.

"Holy shit, dude what's up?" a voice called out and Artie turned to see one of the Hellcats calling out to him.

The four rival members stopped everything they were doing and made their way over to him.

"Great," he muttered under his breath as the guy at the front patted him hard on the shoulder.

"I didn't know you guys were gonna be in the area today. Good to see a brother from another mother dropping in for a visit," the Hellcat chuckled.

"Yeah, been a while," Artie replied trying to make eye contact and sound as enthusiastic as possible.

"Been out blasting any of those Ace motherfuckers lately?" another asked.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I blasted some motherfucker in the balls before I shot out both his knees and let him scream like a bitch before I bashed his fucking skull in!" Artie whooped, trying to use the same descriptive level of gore he would expect from the bloodthirsty men standing before him.

His comment elicited wild laughter from the others, "Fuck yeah man! That's how Redcoats and Hellcats roll!" a third thug shouted, "Pretty soon we're gonna find out where those bitches crash, flush 'em out and then smoke 'em out!" the man hollered, unafraid of who would overhear him if anybody. It just went to show how much sway the three rival gangs held over the island, basically able to get away with whatever they pleased and not caring who they would have to go through in order to do so.

Artie said nothing, staring at the man warily and wondering what they would be planning next.

"Yeah, I hope the boss lets me personally blow Darius McLaren's fucking head off. I've always hated that motherfucker," the fourth thug spoke.

"I doubt that'll happen, but I wouldn't mind fucking that Zivah chick they have with them before we kill her," the second thug whooped excitedly.

"Or that Lexie," the third spoke up making a tongue rolling noise.

"They might be Aces, but goddamn they've still got some killer bodies," the lead thug added, "just can't say that around Pryde, he'd likely shoot my dick off for saying something like that. You know how fanatical he is after that one sergeant of theirs killed both his brothers, what's the guy's name? Oh yeah, J.T. I think it was!"

The name instantly rang a bell with Artie, the Ace who had acquired the car and man's clothes for him.

"Don't worry, pretty soon those Aces'll regret the day they crossed our path," the lead thug continued as he made his way towards the restroom and the others split up to get what they needed, "Remember to get some whipped cream, you know Mako has some wild shit planned for later on."

"Mako?" Artie asked.

"Mako our lieutenant," the third thug replied, "It's his birthday today and we're having a party for him over at the Lava Lounge."

"It's fucking epic man! Booze, boobs and blow!" the fourth thug hollered, "Gotta get goin' while the pussy's still warm!"

When the other Hellcats made their way out of sight Artie made his way to the restroom and looked over his shoulder before entering.

The lead thug was still in the middle of relieving himself at the center urinal when the hired gun approached the urinal next to him and pretended to take a leak.

"So what's this I'm hearing about you guys planning a big raid on the Aces' hideout?" Artie asked, "I haven't had much contact with our hierarchy lately, so I've been on the outside for the most part in terms of information."

"They've been planning it out for a while," the blond-haired man replied, "Our boss, along with yours and King Charlie wanna find out where they hide out and then send an entire hit squad after them. From what I've heard it's gonna be fucking epic!"

"How so?" Artie asked keeping his ears wide open and ready to soak in whatever information was about to come his way.

The Hellcat looked at him in confusion for a few seconds before the confident smirk returned to his face, "The King's got this huge shipment coming in, gonna be all sorts of heavy artillery and hell, we might even be able to purchase a few A.P.C.'s on the black market…maybe even a tank! Fuck, from what he's been saying we might even be able to get our hands on an Annihilator!"

Artie almost paled at the mention of the brand of infamous attack helicopter, "Really?"

"Hell yeah, as we speak the King's trying to reach through to his contacts in the Colombian Cartel and they're hoping to get the stuff over here little by little. They've got contacts in the Coast Guard who can get the shit past the blockade, seeing as they're the only ones who can go back and forth in the water without question after the way our prick government has us isolated from the rest of the world," the thug replied zipping up his pants and making his way over to the sink.

"Not only that, they can get us drugs and plenty of people to smuggle here into the city, limitless funds for us. I tell you, it's gonna be fucking epic!" he laughed.

"It definitely sounds like that, but I don't think it's gonna be happening anytime soon," Artie spoke and before the man could react, grabbed him by the back of his jacket's collar and shoved him face first into the mirror.

The glass cracked beneath the man's face and he was soon thrown into the corner, where Artie would drive his fist repeatedly into the man's stomach. "It's gonna be you Hellcats that are history!" he growled while delivering an uppercut to the man's jaw, "You, the Yardies and the-"

Before the beating could continue the door swung open and Artie turned to see one of the Hellcats entering.

"Dude, what the fuck?" the man asked in disbelief.

The thug Artie had been hammering on reached for his gun, but the hitman spotted him and grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to squeeze his trigger twice, catching the entering man in the leg and sending him falling to the floor. Overpowering the Hellcat, Artie then forced him to fire a round into his right foot before knocking him out with a vicious right hook.

"What the hell's going on back there?" the third Hellcat called out as he and his remaining colleague appeared in the aisle before them.

Artie said nothing and opened fire, dropping both men with repeated rounds to the chest before the gun he confiscated ran dry and he casually tossed it aside.

"Motherfucker, we trusted you!" the wounded Hellcat called out as he scrambled for a gun that lay inches away from him, the pain in his leg too intense for him to pull himself over without a great struggle.

"Well you trusted the wrong people," Artie laughed harshly, drawing his shotgun and firing a point blank round of buckshot into the man's cranium, splattering bits of bone, brain and blood all over the black and white tile floor.

With the four Hellcats taken care of he rushed out of the convenience store, ignoring the cowering clerk, and made his way towards the Clover and throwing himself inside, knowing he would need to leave a witness next time.

_"I know that punk in the bathroom is still alive, but that doesn't count. He was out cold," _Artie told himself as he pulled into traffic and sped away from the scene, looking into his rearview mirror to see an ambulance already approaching the 24/7.

Artie's mission was not over and he would need to find Hellcats to terrorize, anywhere there was more than one lurking around so he could find that elusive witness needed to ensure his job would be a success.

Then he remembered the one thug saying something about the Lava Lounge, where a birthday party was being held for one of their lieutenants.

The building would be packed with Hellcats, too many to kill, but enough for him to leave witnesses behind.

"Time to piss off some Hellcats," Artie said with a vile smirk as he made his way through Lincoln Island and towards the Eastwood Bridge that would take him to Washington Dell.

The drive had taken much longer than expected due to all the traffic, safe to say the residents of Washington Dell did not harbor the same level of alarm towards the Redcoats as did the citizens of Lincoln Island, therefore the motorists of Sawyer Gardens weren't as quick to pull out of the way as would a resident of Horgate.

It wasn't long before Artie was driving into Gomorrah and soon pulling to a halt in the parking lot adjoining the purple building that was the Lava Lounge and surely enough there were a couple Dukes and a Slamvan along with a few tan-colored Sultan street racers bearing the trademark flame decals of the rival gang.

A decent sized line had already formed at the front entrance, where a muscular security guard was in the middle of arguing with a younger bespectacled man in a Cyber Dude t-shirt that barely rose above his kneecap.

"Sorry pal, this looks too fake to me," the bald guard replied as he carefully inspected the kid's driver's license.

"Dude, I'm seriously 21 years old!" the nerd replied, "Look at me, I've got fucking facial hair!" he said tugging at the hairs on his small goatee to prove it wasn't a disguise.

"Yeah right, the guard chuckled crossing his tree trunk-like arms over his broad chest, "That's what some 12 year old said just a few weeks ago to gain access here and then next thing you know, he gets drunk, steals a car, gets into an accident and then we get sued. The little bastard shaved off his father's pubic hair and glued it to his face! After that incident we're not taking any more chances. Now you need to get the fuck out of here or else I'm gonna rip more than just those pubes off your face!" he demanded tossing the man's ID to the ground.

"Next!" the black-shirted man called out as it was time for the next guest to step up, an attractive Cuban woman with stylishly cut short black hair and wearing a silver cocktail dress. "Go right on in ma'am," he said before the woman could pull out her ID and winked at her as she strolled in.

_"Competent staff they've got here," _Artie sarcastically thought as he waited in line behind ten additional people and tried to remain patient.

"Okay next," the doorman called out, but then stopped the man approaching as he took notice of Artie.

"Um, you can go right on in sir!" he said pushing the man aside, "No need to make him wait! Let the gentleman through!" he ordered.

Artie ignored the filthy glares he received as he made his way to the entrance, stopping to size up the doorman before going in.

"Are you serious?" he asked tilting his head awkwardly.

Here stood a man who had to be nearly seven feet tall and had muscles upon muscles, looking like he could very well have been a star football player back in high school, probably even making up the entire defensive line based upon his size alone. No doubt this was a man who could have given him a serious run for his money in a hand-to-hand duel. Fuck that shit, taking his man head on would have been damned near suicidal!

And yet here he was cowering before him based upon a disguise alone.

"Please, you're good to go, now just go inside and have yourself a good ol' time," the guard replied hurriedly, "Next!"

_"Man, people around here sure are scared of the Redcoats. Perhaps I was wrong, maybe the fear of these punks goes beyond even Lincoln Island," _the hired gun thought to himself making his way inside, only to find his ears assaulted by some of the most god awful singing he had ever heard.

In what was normally a pretty lively dance club, most of the patrons stood about staring at the stage, where a sign indicated it was 'Thursday Karaoke Wars.'

Onstage an Arabic man in a horrendous lime green suit was in the middle of belting out Lady Gaga's "Poker Face."

(A/N: To really get the humor I'm intending to convey in this particular scene I'll tell you to just picture Yusuf Amir from "The Ballad of Gay Tony" trying to sing this song. As much as I can't stand Lady Gaga, in my own demented mind I'm able to picture him singing this song and it never fails to crack me up. This scene was inspired by that one episode of South Park that spoofs "Whale Wars" where Stan is trying to combat Japanese whaling, this episode shows Cartman singing the aforementioned song on "Rock Band.")

_"Can't read my, can't read my, no he can't read my poker face!" _the man shouted into the microphone before shifting his tone, _"She's got to love nobody!" _he screamed in the tone of a constipated man on the toilet.

"This guy sucks! No wonder this place is dead!" a patron shouted before hammering down his drink.

_"P-P-P-Poker face! P-p-poker face!" _the man screamed before following up with the _"Mum mum mum mah! P-P-P-Poker face! P-p-poker face!"_

"You suck! Get off the stage asshole!" another patron called out flashing his middle finger.

"Who needs suicide bombing when we've gotta put up with your piss poor singing?" yet another shouted before tossing his drink at the singing man.

Artie did what he could to shut out the man's piss poor singing and focused on the bar area, where he spotted a few Hellcats ordering drinks.

"Bingo," he said slowly stalking his way to the bar just as the men were leaving and making their way towards a back corridor.

Following them from a safe distance Artie made his way through a red door into a mauve-colored corridor and watched as they disappeared around a corner. Hugging the wall, he crept along until he came to the edge and watched them go through a door manned by a lone Hellcat carrying a Steyr TMP submachine gun.

_"Gonna be like shooting fish in a barrel," _he thought to himself as he approached the door with a shit-eating grin, knowing the guard would receive him without incident.

"Hey man, I didn't know any Redcoats were gonna be here. Oh well, I'll let the others know you're coming," the man said, but before he could reach for the door Artie was grabbing him and driving his face into the nearby wall before pulling him back and with some effort, snapping the man's neck.

"Nah, I figured I'd surprise them," Artie said dragging the man's body into an alcove and then looting all of his ammo.

Approaching the door he took a deep breath and made his way into a small party room where the Hellcats gathered, either getting their drink on, snorting coke, dancing to the music, or attempting to score with one of the several prostitutes brought in as an in-house D.J. blasted "Pussy" by Lords of Acid on his sound system.

_"At least they'll be going down with smiles on their faces," _he told himself as he watched a Hellcat on the loveseat next to him with a hooker on his lap and snorting cocaine off of her breasts.

"Hey, it's one of our red brothers!" a voice called out and he turned to see several of the Hellcats raising their beers to him.

"Come join my party brother!" shouted an African-American thug in a tan-colored hoodie and wearing a pair of wraparound shades, his black hair styled in dreadlocks and pulled back into a ponytail. Artie assumed that had to be Mako.

"Somebody get this guy a beer!" the Hellcat lieutenant shouted and on cue an underling was reaching into a cooler and tossing him a Blowenkoch.

Popping the cap Artie quickly downed the ice cold liquid before tossing the emptied bottle aside.

"As a matter of fact I will be," he replied raising the TMP and before the tan-clad men closest to him could react he was spraying the room down with automatic fire, killing many where they stood and even hitting a few prostitutes as they scampered about, their ear-piercing shrieks much louder than the gunfire.

The thug on the loveseat tossed his hooker aside and attempted to tackle the hired gun, but he was quickly dispatched as Artie knocked him out cold with the butt of his rifle. A second man would attempt to drop him as well, only to also find himself receiving the stock upside the head and a third man broke his beer bottle in an attempt to stab him, only to eat a four round burst to his sternum.

"Backstabbing bastard! You're gonna die!" one of the Hellcats called out as a few of the survivors managed to reach their guns and returned fire.

_"Okay, I think I've pissed them off enough. Time to split," _he thought as the walls around him were soon peppered with lead, whirling on his heel and bolting down the hall.

"Don't let that motherfucker get away! Fucking kill him goddamn it!" Mako shouted, lying on the floor with a dead hooker lying on top of him, weakened by three rounds perforating his side.

Hearing the screams coming from the main room Artie decided it would be too hazardous to try escaping through there and took notice of the sign pointing to the nearest exit overhead, telling them he wasn't far away.

He dove around a corner just as a volley of rounds cut through the air behind him and he threw himself through the backdoor, running around the building and making his way towards the parking lot. Just as he passed the front entrance two Hellcats would emerge, shoving the doorman aside and opening fire with MP5's.

The hitman dove for cover behind an abandoned taxi and returned fire, dropping one of the rival gangsters with a shot to the shoulder, wounding but not killing him before he resumed his sprint for the Clover and he approached the waiting muscle car, whirling around to fire upon the remaining gangster and managing a one in a million shot that knocked the submachine gun from his hands. With the two men temporarily incapacitated he threw himself into the Clover and sped away.

_"Alright, I suppose Darius will be wanting proof that they're murdering each other," _Artie told himself as he sped back towards Lincoln Island and made his way back towards the closest known Redcoat territory, which happened to be Stilsen.

Eventually he came across a small park where several Redcoats gathered, either drinking, smoking or head banging to the heavy metal they were playing on a nearby boombox, which happened to be "Call from the Grave" by Bathory.

Taking a right into a nearby alley he pulled up behind the small park and walked out to be greeted by the red-clad gangsters.

"Hey, what's up brother?" one of the Redcoats called out, waving Artie over to the small gathering.

"Nothing, just chilling as usual," the hired gun casually replied looking up to the surrounding buildings, _"I need to find a place where I can get a good shot," _he thought looking down to his Whiz wireless phone.

After having had further time to explore its features he learned that it also has the ability to record video and he was hopeful that would come in handy sooner than later.

Seeing the door left open on a nearby apartment complex Artie made his way inside and climbed the stairs to the second floor, finding an empty dilapidated flat where he was given an obstructed view of the park below.

"They should be through here any moment now," he told himself as he knelt before an opened window, feeling he had all the time in the day to wait for a coming massacre.

He wouldn't have to wait long as he could hear the revving of numerous muscle car engines coming from one direction and the throbbing bass of reggae music from the other.

"Oh yeah, it's on now," he almost giggled as the Hellcat and Yardie gang vehicles skidded to a halt in front of the park and he pushed the button on his phone to record.

"Hey guys what brings you-" one of the Redcoats managed to speak before a Yardie cut him down with a blast from his AKM.

The other red-clad gang members looked on in confusion before they were cut down by a combined barrage from their vengeful soon-to-be former allies. Within seconds the last Redcoat was left writhing in pain with both of his kneecaps shot out beneath him before a Yardie grabbed him by the hair and proceeded to hack his head from his shoulders with a machete.

"Alright, I think this'll be good enough for Darius," Artie whispered hitting the button to stop the recording and then pushing another to send the video clip to the Aces general's cell phone.

Within seconds he was receiving a phone call from the recipient.

"Please tell me you've had the chance to see that in its entirety," Artie half-shouted over the rattle of gunfire from outside.

_"Hell yeah, every little bit of it! You sure did yourself a damned good job out there and we're damn proud of you!" _the general proudly boomed.

"Eh, did what I could. Glad you approve," Artie chuckled.

_"Yeah, you'd better get your ass outta there right now. Get rid of the car and get rid of that disguise," _Darius ordered.

"Yeah, I'm gonna need to talk to you face to face. Apparently they had something big planned, something you definitely need to hear about," Artie reported as he watched a red and white Burrito packed with Redcoat reinforcements arrive and begin piling out, returning fire with their vengeful allies turned enemies.

_"Alright, just get your ass outta there as soon as possible," _Darius said before hanging up.

Putting his phone away, Artie made his way down the stairs and was going to take a back door to the alley where he parked the Clover when some of those Redcoats came piling in trying desperately to escape a gunfight they were losing, only to find themselves cut down by a volley of TMP fire.

"Dere be anudder one!" a rifle-wielding Yardie called out, followed by a dreadlocked accomplice carrying a sawn-off shotgun.

Whirling around the hired gun fired a barrage that took down the AK guy with a fatal shot to the heart and caught the other one repeatedly in the chest; his heavy wheezing indicating one of his lungs was punctured.

Artie scrambled into the back alley and listened to the screams, gunfire and explosions of the battle at hand. As tempting as it was to sit back and watch them murder each other, he knew he wasn't safe and had to get out of there. First things first, he needed to get rid of the Clover and suddenly thought of the car crusher over in Jansport.

Moving down the back alley he made his way onto the street where the fighting was going down and looked to see the three rival factions still shooting it out as two N.O.O.S.E. Enforcers came speeding into view and a Police Maverick circled overhead.

Unfortunately for Artie, one of the Hellcats in a Slamvan spotted him and began chasing after him, both occupants peppering his Clover with automatic fire.

Furthermore, he was fast approaching the end of the street, where N.O.O.S.E. agents had set up a barricade consisting of their Patriots and some wooden sawhorses.

"Incoming!" one of the agents called out and they simultaneously opened fire, shattering his windshield, shooting off the side mirrors, loosening the hood and puncturing both front tires, causing the Clover to fishtail wildly.

_"I'm not going down this easily," _he told himself as he struggled to maintain his grip on the steering wheel and slammed the pedal to the floor, causing the muscle car's hood to go flying off.

"Shit, he's gonna ram us!" another officer cried and several of them scampered out of the way.

Bracing himself, Artie forced the Clover through the small opening between the Patriots and the car made a complete rotation before he was able to regain control.

The Slamvan wasn't as lucky and crashed head on into one of the Patriots, the agents swarming the van and pulling out the two Hellcats inside.

In spite of the punctured front tires Artie didn't slow down and continued to floor it all the way over to the Jansport district until the junkyard was within sight and he slammed on the brakes as he approached the gate, swerving sideways and getting T-boned by a Rebla.

"Hey, why don't you watch where you're going you fucking asshole?" the driver screamed, climbing out of his car with a golf club in hand.

The hired gun grunted and climbed out, drawing his SPAS-12 to fire a warning shot in the air, but then the man suddenly halted dead in his tracks.

"Terribly sorry! Please don't kill me!" the man cried in terror, dropping his golf club and throwing himself back into his car before pulling a U-turn and taking off in the opposite direction, his wife screaming the entire time.

_"No doubt it's the uniform," _he thought as the gate now opened and he pulled inside, parking the car beneath the crane and watching as it lifted the badly damaged gang car into its compactor.

"Alright, now to get rid of these clothes," Artie whispered running back through the gate and looking around for any kind of transport, knowing a SubUrban was located in the adjoining Komojack Downs.

Hearing the sounds of battle in the distance only heightened the urgency and he saw Bobcat, but it was moving too fast for him to catch up. Looking to his right, his only option would be the Lowrider bicycle in the rack and he used his Glock to shoot the chain off.

Artie climbed on and peddled as fast as he could over to the Komojack Downs district and by the time he was in front of the SubUrban he was heavily winded and his leg muscles throbbed. He almost collapsed, bracing himself against the building and regaining his breath before entering the store.

"Hello and welcome to SubUrban," the cashier unenthusiastically called out, a young man around Zeke's age with short, shaggy black hair and wearing a Radio GX t-shirt. Aside from him there were three other patrons milling about, none of them paying attention to the hired gun.

"Good," he muttered making his way for the racks, grabbing a pair of olive-colored jeans, a Base 5 hoodie, Vile Crud t-shirt (which he knew would please Zeke), and a pair of black and blue Low-Tops.

He made his way over to the front counter, where the cashier had been too busy playing air guitar to Guns n' Roses "You Could Be Mine" blasting over the store's sound system.

"Excuse me," Artie called out dropping the clothes loudly on the counter and startling the man.

"Oh, terribly sorry," the man muttered before ringing up his order, "Can I interest you in a complimentary Vile Crud E.P.?" the cashier asked while bagging his clothing.

"No, but thanks anyway," the errand boy said accepting the bag.

"Keep on fighting the man!" the cashier shouted, giving him the "Devil horns" hand gesture as he walked away.

"Uh yeah, sure," Artie said making his way towards the fitting rooms and changing into his brand new clothes, tossing his disguise into a nearby trashcan.

"Now to get the hell back over to Darius and the boys," he said looking around for another method of transportation, spotting a Stallion convertible nearby. He ran over and flung himself into the vehicle, hotwiring it and taking off towards the Lincoln Shore district, knowing he would have to stay on the back roads to avoid the battle taking place.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Within minutes Artie was back at the Gold Digger and ready to explain things to the Aces higher-ups.

"Darius, you and the guys are going to need to be extra vigilant. I overheard one of the Hellcats saying they had been trying to find out where you guys are hiding out and said how they were planning a huge raid in cooperation with the Yardies and Hellcats," Artie reported, "Well hopefully not anymore now that they're killing each other.

The higher ranking members all looked to one another and muttered quietly amongst themselves before Artie spoke again.

"That's not all, apparently they've got some big shipments coming in thanks to some contacts King Charlie has inside the Coast Guard and the Colombian Cartel," the hitman spoke, eliciting a disbelieving 'What the fuck?' from Rex while some of the lesser members present paled at the mention of the Cartel.

"Yeah, one of the Hellcats was blabbing on about some huge weapon shipment and apparently the King must be turning some pretty _huge_ tricks because the guy was talking A.P.C.'s and possibly even a tank or an Annihilator," Artie added.

"And if that happens, we're as sure as fucked," Lexie glumly added.

"I have to agree with her on that," Sala spoke looking towards the floor, "We're already short staffed, nobody wants to roll with the guys who've got the biggest target on their back."

"And because of that damned blockade we can't get much in the way of guns and ammo for ourselves," Jason spat, "We've been having to forage for things around here and there's nobody willing to form some kind of alliance with us either. We're on our own on that front."

"Yeah, the guy also said something about other shipments coming in: drugs, guns, even people. It would provide them with limitless funds and even if they don't wipe you guys out right away, they'd have plenty of time to sit back and collect," Artie said shaking his head, knowing he was going to be stepping on some toes with that statement, but yet not wanting to hide anything from them.

"Well I'm not about to start brown nosing the government or the Cartel," Darius declared rising to his feet, "As long as I have any say in the matter, we're going to keep fighting until the end. Even if the odds are stacked against us I refuse to back down and take it like a prison bitch."

"I'm with you on that," Sala said stepping up alongside his commander and friend, "Ever since we've come into existence we've had the odds stacked against us, but we haven't gone down just yet!"

"Whatever that shipment is, maybe we can find it and get it away from them, use it to our own advantage," a younger Ace spoke up from near the death car, earning a disgusted stare from Darius.

"Blake, you'd better give me a reason I don't fucking kill you for spewing that shit out of your mouth like that!" Darius shouted at the dark-haired man, "I'm not taking this gang into the drug trade! We've been over that plenty of times before, end of story!" he snapped.

"We wouldn't have to deal it, but we could be dealing a crippling blow to their operation if we get to it first," Koji spoke up; "If we can find a way to get it away from them we can destroy it."

"And if we can locate their buyers that'll hurt them pretty bad," Zivah added, "If we're lucky they'll have cash on them and we can use that to buy our own guns, beat them at their own game."

"That's the only thing I can think of wanting to do with that shit," J.T. chimed in with a white knuckle grip on his AR-15, "That SPANK shit killed my older brother and turned my sister into a permanent resident over at Verdant Hills."

"Well we're gonna have to find out when these shipments are coming in so we can get to it before them," Darius said scooping up a map of the city, "We're gonna need to be on top of things at all times. We don't need to just keep an eye here on Lincoln Island; we need to be all over the entire fucking city!"

"But how?" Lexie spoke up, "We're already stretched far too thin as it is. What makes you think we're going to be able to canvas an entire city to make sure none of those bastards are smuggling their weapons into here?"

"And I hate to shoot you down further, but I don't think we're just going to be able to reach outside for help like we did with Artie," Rodrigo said before turning to the hitman, "No offense man, but I'm just trying to be realistic here. We can't reach out to just _anybody_, we've gotta find people we can trust, someone who isn't a fucking rat!"

"None taken, but I do understand your point," Artie spoke in reply to the mechanic's valid statement, "I think I might know some people who can help out, but I'll have to see what they say. I know a lot of them wouldn't be in the mood for getting themselves caught up in the middle of a massive gang war, but I'm sure they can be persuaded one way or another."

Darius exhaled deeply, "We're going to have to find some way to get this done. We can't just let those punks walk all over us without a fight. There has to be _something_ we can do to turn the tide in our favor. One way or another, we're going to find something, the Redcoats can count on that," the embattled general replied before making his exit, several of his lieutenants following suit.

Artie looked over to Kato, who reclined against a long ago decommissioned slot machine. The often ballsy acting young man stood quietly trying to avoid making any sounds, but the hired gun could sense the tension traveling throughout his body, his shaking hand struggling to hold onto the bottle of scotch he had in hand. The rookie Ace looked over to him and forced a grin, quickly setting the bottle down and using his other hand to cover his shaking one.

"What's up?" he asked walking over to the younger man and taking a seat on a stool next to him.

"Oh nothing, just the usual…" Kato trailed on his voice devoid of his usual boastfulness.

"I know you're scared," Artie replied.

The remark caught the young man completely off guard and he looked over with his dark eyes wide as saucers.

"Me, scared? No fucking way man!" Kato said shooting his hand out and accidentally knocking over the bottle, causing him to jump and draw his sidearm pointing it towards the entrance. When he saw there were no rival gang members forcing their way inside only then did he lower his gun and hastily shove it back into his holster.

"You're a terrible fucking liar," Artie spat narrowing his eyes at him, but quickly loosening up and adopting a calmer, more empathetic tone, "You don't have anything to hide from me, I know you're scared and quite frankly I would be too. Hell, I'm still wondering if I did the right thing in agreeing to help out after all the shit I see going on between you and the Redcoats."

Kato said nothing instead looking off in the distance towards a long faded poster promoting a Venturas lounge act that had come and gone many moons ago.

"I really wonder if I joined up at the right time," the rookie admitted in a hushed tone.

"Heh, you joined a fucking street gang. Do you really think there's any 'right time' to join?" Artie bitterly retorted.

"I didn't just join to look like a tough guy nor solely because of me needing backup," Kato said looking into his eyes, "The main reason I joined was because I truly agreed with what Darius preached about wanting to unite our neighborhood for the sake of protecting and looking out for one another. Yeah, yeah I know joining a street gang probably isn't the way to do that, but I wanted a more proactive solution, something that wouldn't involve having to go through layers and layers of red tape to get shit done around here, something that would involve the direct input of the people."

Artie had to admit he was caught a bit off guard by the young man's conviction.

All this time he thought he had been dealing with a guy who thought he had to act tough in order to make up for his parents giving him a girlish name, but yet there appeared to be much more beneath his tough guy façade, a man who would fight to bring a change for the greater good and was willing to do so through any means necessary.

The hitman could see the fear in the young Ace's eyes, yet beneath it a great fire that yearned for him to overcome his apprehension so that he could bring about the kind of changes he wished so desperately for.

"Well I really don't know what to tell you in regards to the time you joined up, but if you feel as if you joined up for a cause you truly believe in then you should stick with it as long as you can," Artie replied as he looked around the room.

Situated at a table in front of the 'death car' three Aces sat around playing a game of poker while at the same time swapping stories of their sexual conquests, who they wished to conquer and how they all seemed to dread the thought of settling down and having families one day. Granted it all appeared to be alcohol-induced banter on their behalf, but yet at the same time there appeared to be a genuine sense of camaraderie involved, a group of young men who viewed each other as brothers forged in the fires of war, men who would lay down their lives to protect one another.

Elsewhere in the room you had two Aces engaged in an arm wrestling contest while two of their friends cheered them on in the background. Granted the two men were engaged in a small battle of their own, yet with the banter involved an outsider would know it was strictly a friendly rivalry and nothing more and the second Redcoats came barreling through the front doors they would be reaching for their guns to fight their enemies to the death.

Situated at the TV set in the room two more Aces were engaged in a round of gaming on the GBOX 720, Artie recognizing one the background music as from that 'Splendid Crash Siblings' game Randy had recently purchased. They two were locked in the throes of a pretend battle with playful insults hurled back and forth, yet as soon as the game ceased they would be back to being the best of friends and watching each other's' backs with the ferocity of the proud and loyal warriors of the streets that they were.

Society as cruel as it could be would have been quick to judge the Aces, writing them off as nothing more than a group of bellicose hoodlums bent on looking out for nobody other than themselves and wreaking as much havoc as they could upon the populace.

That was far from the truth.

To him, he saw the Aces as a group of men and women who truly cared about one another, the closest kind of 'family feeling' any gang could have. They weren't the kind of people who would gun a man down so they could get a bigger cut for a job, nor would they sacrifice one of their own to appease a rival faction they had pissed off, and they sure as hell wouldn't leave a man behind like he had seen some of their adversaries doing in previous battles.

These guys were the real deal. They would stick together through thick and thin and would die as warriors rather than surrender to the pigs. They would grieve the loss of a brother who had fallen in battle, giving him a proper burial as opposed to leaving the crows to peck away at his dead body lying in a drainage ditch. More so, they would see to it their fallen brother was avenged. To them, one of their own was a flesh and blood human being, not some number on a list and that was something he had to admire.

Artie pulled out his cell phone to check the time, "Well I've gotta get going now. Stay strong man and look out for these guys. They're definitely going to need you," he replied giving the rookie a pat on the shoulder before making his way towards the exit.

"Hey Artie!" he heard Darius call out and turned to find the Ace general walking towards him with a large manila envelope in hand.

"Here, this is for a job well done. You earned every penny of it," he said handing him the envelope.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it," Artie replied shaking the man's hand before making his way out towards his waiting Sentinel.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends yet another installment in the journeys of our beloved antihero Arthur "Artie" Cappelli.

This mission was largely inspired by "Two Bit Hit" from Vice City with Artie having to dress up like a Redcoat and going around their allies' territory wreaking havoc. There's also a nod to the "I Need Your Clothes, Your Boots and Your Motorcycle" mission given out by Gerry McReary in GTA4 with how Gerry kept that Albanian guy's corpse stashed in his refrigerator, the part with the Redcoat's body being stashed in the trunk and Artie's reaction.

Hawt Sacks are my spoof of Hot Pockets, the Homegrown Purchasing Vision is a spoof of the Home Shopping Network and 'Splendid Crash Siblings' is a spoof of 'Super Smash Brothers' and 'One Load to Blow' is a spoof of 'One Life to Live.'

The scene with Artie gunning down the guy in the white rabbit costume is a reference to the "Kill the Rabbit" mission from "Manhunt," in which you had to chase the aforementioned rabbit all throughout the final part of the asylum before finally tracking him down to the watch tower and blowing his brains out so you can get the key. I always thought seeing an overgrown man in a bunny costume in an asylum populated by a bunch of psychopaths wearing smiley masks was creepy enough…hot damn!

The Aces street sergeant J.T. Worth is physically inspired by Wentworth Miller from the show "Prison Break," also the guy who played Chris Redfield in "Resident Evil: Afterlife."

Well I think that's everything covered so until then read and review or else I'm sending that crazy Arabic guy to your house to sing a piss poor rendition of "Poker Face!" Oh yean and before I forget, SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	31. Family Night at Montebello's

Chapter 31: Family Night at Montebello's

The early evening hours were fast approaching in Rushmore City and the sun was descending beyond the horizon, the daytime sky's light blue gradually giving way to the darkness of night, gradually transitioning to a shade of light purple that would soon turn to pitch black.

"God I'm so going to need a stiff drink after all the shit I've been through today," Artie said aloud as he approached Hymen Avenue, noting how all the usual nighttime crazies were creeping out of the shadows.

Taking a right turn onto the aforementioned street, the hired gun began to slow down as he drew closer to his cousin's bar and as he did, his eyes widened in surprise.

"What the fuck?" he asked in disbelief as he saw an entire line of people waiting outside the front door.

_"People are actually waiting in line to get into The Little Black Book of all places? What the fuck is going on here? Seriously, that place is a fucking shithole!" _Artie thought to himself parking the Sentinel on the street as opposed to pulling into the back alley as he normally did.

Stepping out of the car he could hear muffled techno music booming from within and at the front door he noticed Iceman standing to the side checking the ID of a young woman waiting to gain access and ran over to him.

"Alright, in you go ma'am. Enjoy yourself," the gun runner replied permitting the lady to enter, "Alright, next please!" he called out just as Artie approached.

"Hey Artie, what the fuck's up brother?" he asked reaching over to give his friend a hearty handshake.

"Just got back from a job," the hitman replied looking towards the bar, "I could ask you the same thing man. What the fuck's up here? This place _never_ gets this busy."

"I don't know man to tell you the truth. I was in the middle of prepping an order for this guy who pissed off some Yardies when Zeke gave me a call, saying they needed some extra help over here and next thing I know, I'm here acting as the doorman. Normally I woulda' been like 'Fuck you,' but since I'm getting paid I can't complain," Iceman explained as the next would-be patron waited impatiently.

"Is it really _that_ full?" Artie asked, listening to the blaring techno music and the loud hooting from within.

"See for yourself," Iceman said opening the door for him, both of them nearly bowled over by the loud music.

"You've gotta be shitting me," Artie muttered staring into the bar, unable to believe his eyes.

The Little Black Book was packed beyond maximum capacity and the second he stepped in he found himself scrunched between a group of partygoers like he was in a can full of sardines. Nonetheless, the atmosphere was festive and lively, a sight rarely seen in a depressing shithole of that magnitude.

_"For once I don't have to take any antidepressants before I step through the front door," _Artie told himself moving past a busty blonde in a low cut red top.

"Hey Artie!" a familiar voice called out above the racket and he looked over to find Zeke manning his usual post behind the bar, struggling to serve ten different people at once, all of them shouting their orders to him.

"Hey Zeke," the hired gun shouted back, trying to make his head seen above those surrounding him, "How the hell did this shithole become so popular all of a sudden?"

"It beats the living hell outta me dude!" the bartender shouted back while struggling to pour two drinks at once, "Oh well, I'm not gonna bitch with all the money we're drawing in! Hey Kenna, I need some help down on this end!"

"Coming right up!" a new voice called out and Artie was surprised to see Iceman's cousin Kenna behind the bar with Zeke helping him tend to the overzealous customers.

"Hey bitch!" another voice chimed in from behind, finding himself shoved into a group of people and causing them to spill their drinks.

"What the fuck?" Artie asked turning around to find himself met by another familiar face, this one not so friendly.

"I remember you! You're that fuckin' piss ant from Silver's!" the man cried out in a drunken stupor, none other than the self-proclaimed M.M.A. god Clancy Mays.

"Oh no, not this loser again," Artie whispered to himself, shaking his head and burying his face in his palm.

"Don't you be walkin' away from me boy! You and I are gonna have ourselves a nice long chat!" he boomed, shoving Artie hard into another group of dancers and spilling most of his drink, "Goddamn it…when you're not trying to embarrass yours truly in front of his homies, you're makin' me spill my drink!"

"No, I think you already do a good enough job of that by yourself," Artie replied rousing the laughter of a few nearby patrons.

Before the drunken man could raise his fist, his arm was caught in midair and the hired gun turned to see Dal standing there, wearing a black suit with an earpiece in his right ear.

"Dal?" the errand boy asked dumbfounded, "What brings your ass around here?"

"Oh hey Artie, how you doin'?" the underground fighter replied while forcing Clancy's arm behind his back in a chicken wing hold, "Never mind me, I'm just working security for this gig here tonight! Now if you'll excuse me I have some trash to take out!" he said forcing his unruly customer towards the door.

_"Goddamn, I never thought I'd live to see the day something like this would happen," _Artie said to himself, still in awe at how many people had congregated here tonight and were actually having a good time, just as he approached the center of the room, where the infamous Pukin' Pete was surrounded by people cheering him on as a beer bong was shoved down his throat.

"PETE! PETE! YOU'RE OUR MAN! IF YOU CAN'T DO IT, NO ONE CAN! PETE! PETE! LET'S GO PETE!" the crowd chanted as the drunkard signaled for the two patrons to pour the gallon worth of whiskey down the tube, swallowing all of it down like it was nothing.

"Yeah…who's…the…man?" he managed to slur before collapsing to the floor.

_"Alrighty there ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to The Little Black Book! I trust you're all having yourselves a good ol' time!" _a familiar nasally voice called out and Artie looked over towards the back of the room where the pool tables normally sat.

Sitting behind some D.J. equipment was Randy Spitz himself, wearing a purple skully, glow in the dark sunglasses and a gold chain necklace.

"Randy?" Artie asked cocking an eyebrow, not knowing whether or not he was hallucinating, _"That pathetic loser actually knows how to D.J. of all things?"_

_ "Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! The fun's just getting started here at our humble establishment, so please be kind and tip your bartender…seriously people, do it, he needs the money really bad…and so does the other bartender Kenna…please…this entire establishment needs the money so we can get the Redcoats and Johnny Sneed off our tails! Anyway, here's a mix I made up all by myself, once again my name is D.J. Spittah telling all of you to kick back and enjoy yourselves!" _Randy explained before starting a new track.

Artie had just begun to make his way towards Gino's office when he accidentally bumped into him just as he was attempting to score the phone number of a woman who looked young enough to be his daughter.

"Gino?" he asked, cocking his brow at his cousin.

"Oh my god, Artie! I'm so glad to see you!" he shouted before returning his attention to the woman, who had by now disappeared.

"What the fuck's going on here man? This place is _never_ this packed!" Artie shouted back.

"I think I have a good way of explaining, here let me show you!" Gino replied leading him over to his office, having to shove a couple out of the way that was in the middle of intercourse.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, get a room you two!" Artie shouted to them before slamming the door behind them.

"Alright, it's over here," Gino said taking a seat behind his desk, where Randy's laptop was again present. Opening it up he typed in some commands before they were taken to the popular video sharing website MeTube.

"Randy showed me this earlier today. Apparently some kid shot a video from that day when the Redcoats were over here threatening to burn the place down and this is what he got," the elder Cappelli said before clicking on a button to play the video.

A scratchy video feed depicted Zeke struggling with some Redcoats, firing away with his shotgun before they pelted the bar with automatic fire.

"Fuck, I remember that day!" Artie blurted out leaning over to get a closer look at the video.

The scene then abruptly switched to the bar's exterior, where Artie and Iceman were shown battling the Redcoats, taking each one of them down in systematic fashion before Zeke stepped in to finish off the last gang member that had been threatening the younger Cappelli with a canister full of gasoline.

"Yeah, and so do a lot of other people now that this just got uploaded," Gino added before closing the laptop, "Thanks to whoever posted that, we're fucking famous and now we've got all these people here coming to check this place out! We're finally gonna be able to turn this place into a moneymaker! I can just taste it!" he cried out in excitement, "If I can keep all these people coming in, maybe I'll finally be able to pay off my debts to Johnny after all, fuck I could hire my own fucking army, then nobody will ever kick Giovanni Cappelli around ever again!"

The door opened and both Cappelli cousins looked up to greet their visitor.

"My god, I never thought I'd live to see the day this shithole dive actually made something out of itself!" Donnie Cappelli announced much to the shock of his older brother and younger cousin.

"Donnie! Oh my god, what are you doing here?" Gino asked himself, looking as if he had seen a ghost.

Donnie Cappelli was impeccably dressed as usual, wearing a fancy black leather jacket, a light blue button up dress shirt underneath, fresh blue jeans, expensive Italian-made dress shoes, his gold Crowex watch, a gold crucifix necklace and a golden eagle ring on his right hand.

"Like everybody else, I saw the video on MeTube and figured I'd come and see what the hubbub was all about, had no idea it would be this happening," he announced motioning to the main room behind him.

"Well hey, good to see you again as always Cuz!" Artie said tapping fists with his cousin.

"Yeah, good to see you little brother," Gino spoke without enthusiasm.

"I never thought I'd say it, but yeah good to see you too," Donnie replied sharing his brother's lack of enthusiasm before turning his attention back to Artie, "Nevertheless, I was in the mood for getting off my ass and doing something so I thought I'd come down and see what this was all about, then again I shouldn't be too surprised it was my own cousin being the ass kicker in this case. You oughta' keep this stuff up Cuz; you could be a real cash cow for this place! I could see all the merchandise and what not, fuck maybe even a movie deal if you're lucky!"

"You could be a real cash cow for this place too if you'd actually help your big brother out for once," Gino cut in furrowing his brow towards his younger brother.

"Yeah I could, but I happen to be a busy man myself," Donnie said casually waving his brother off, "but for once I figured I'd show some generosity and help my two favorite guys in the world," he spoke in an almost patronizing tone.

"What do you mean? Are you gonna help me pay off my debts to Johnny Sneed?" Gino asked clamping his hands together as if praying for a miracle.

"Get the hell outta here," Donnie scoffed, "I figured I'd treat you both to dinner for once. There's this sweet new Italian joint over in Emerald Hill called Montebello's that I've been meaning to check out for quite some time, y'know get us back in touch with the motherland!"

Gino's hopeful expression quickly deflated and he slunk back into his chair, reaching into his desk for some more anxiety medication.

"C'mon, it's family night over there; we can get ourselves a sweet discount! Like I said, it can be my treat a family bonding experience if you will," Donnie said with a hearty chuckle and a shit eating grin to match.

"So you're actually looking out for somebody aside from 'number one' for once in your life? That's new," Artie grunted.

"Look, just shut the fuck up and get your ass in gear will ya'?" Donnie said motioning towards the outside.

"Fine, c'mon Gino let's go have ourselves a 'grand old time' if you will," Artie said grabbing the little man by the arm and helping him out of his chair.

The trio made their way outside where Donnie had his Banshee parked in front of Artie's Sentinel, shooting a threatening gaze towards a young man who had been admiring it a little too closely, sending him running away in the opposite direction.

"I'll let you drive Cuz, I might be getting some important phone calls pretty soon and I don't wanna have to worry about driving and texting at the same time. You know how the people are around here," Donnie said running over and opening the front passenger door.

"Yeah, they're important when they involve you getting your dick sucked by some different woman every other night," Artie sighed climbing in while Gino helped himself into the backseat.

"Heh yeah, that's real cute," Donnie shot back, "Believe it or not, sexy well-endowed women aren't the only ones who come flocking to yours truly!"

"So you're bisexual, huh?" Artie asked while starting the car up, eliciting a snicker from Gino.

"Will you just shut the fuck up and drive already? You're still not too big for me to kick your ass when the time calls for it," the elder Cappelli snapped, switching Artie's radio channel over to Radio GX, just in time for "Invincible" by Adelitas Way to come on.

As soon as they were making their way out of the Camden Heights district Donnie spoke up again.

"So what's been going on lately Cuz?" he asked brushing off Artie's previous comments, "Been blasting up any bitches that talk shit about the good Cappelli name?"

"I've been blasting people Donnie, but they haven't been talking shit about the Cappelli name. I doubt anybody around here really knows who we are to be talking shit about us anyway," Artie replied.

"Well it won't be that way much longer," Donnie spoke, earning an odd stare from both Artie and Gino.

"And just what the hell are you saying?" Artie asked, not sure he would like the response he was about to get.

"I'm building up an empire of my own and I'm going to start small by buying Hell's Belles," his cousin announced.

"What the hell?" the hired gun asked in shock, "How could we ever be welcomed back there? Remember, the last time we were there, we ended up shooting that place up because you just _had_ to do a favor for one of your so-called 'friends.'

"Well it was a successful mission was it not?" Donnie replied, "The jack off giving my friends trouble was dealt with and so were all of his henchmen. He was a nobody schmuck Artie! I seriously doubt he has anybody left around that'll be wanting to avenge his sorry ass. Now that he's out of the way, I can step in and pick up the pieces."

"Ever the enterprising entrepreneur aren't you Donnie? It's just like when you tried starting up that 'kissing service' back when you were in junior high," Artie spoke, which elicited another laugh from Gino.

"Oh god yes I remember that! I'm surprised Mom and Dad didn't fucking kill you for that! Their own baby boy…a pimp!" the eldest Cappelli roared.

"Fuck both of you!" Donnie spat, his words drowned out by the strident laughter of his family members.

"Yeah, I remember the look on Judge Weir's face when he found out his 'sweet little angel' was one of your girls!" Artie chipped in, laughing so hard he nearly lost control and swerved into the opposite lane, "He was going to hang you by the balls!"

"That old paranoid fuck thought everybody was fucking his daughter anyway! It shouldn't have been a surprise to him that she was finally getting paid for it!" Donnie shot back.

"Yeah, you're always talking about having all these 'friends,' how can I be sure any of them are even real to begin with?" Artie shouted, prompting Gino's laughter to raise an entire octave.

"He got you there! He got you fucking good there!" the eldest Cappelli snickered until he got the hiccups.

"Yeah, well compared to you at least I understood the concept of saving my money when necessary and not having to worry about living at my parents' house until I was almost thirty!" Donnie retorted to his brother.

"Hey, don't disrespect our parents like that!" the elder Cappelli screamed, reaching over to punch Donnie, but finding himself stopped by Artie.

"That'll be enough out of the both of you!" the hired gun shouted, "Jesus Fucking Christ, driving you two around is like driving two toddlers around! Fucking grow up for once!"

"You started it," Donnie replied, the typical response of a toddler would give while trying to talk their way out of punishment, always trying to lay the blame upon someone else.

The ride wasn't much longer, but then again Artie had been going above the speed limit so he could get out of the confined space with his two quarreling cousins much faster than usual. When he finally spotted the red, white and green awning of Montebello's he eagerly pulled into the adjoining parking lot and leapt out.

"Finally," he gasped like he just escaped from a crumbling cavern, _"I would've had an accident if I wouldn't have stopped those two from tearing each other's throats out."_

The trio made their way inside and approached the booth near the entrance, where they were met by a snooty host in a black tuxedo.

"And how many will it be?" the man spoke in a judgmental tone, eying up the manner in which both Artie and Gino were dressed.

Artie was still wearing the same clothes he had before his mission for the Aces, a dark blue t-shirt, blue and white track pants and a pair of matching athletic shoes, while Gino was clad in his typical cheap plaid sport coat with a gaudy mostly pink Hawaiian shirt underneath and a pair of wrinkled black slacks he looked like he had just thrown on at the last minute.

_"Fuck you asshole, I'm going to dress however I damn well please," _Artie mentally shouted at the man, returning his disdainful glare.

"That'll be a party of three, and tell them to make it quick. Yours truly didn't have time for lunch today," he said slipping the host a one-hundred dollar bill.

"Very well, right this way sir," the man spoke leading them to a table towards the front of the room.

Montebello's was very much an authentic Sicilian-style eatery decorated with several plants native to the valleys of Italy along with replica paintings and murals by famous Italian artists, statues of Roman-like figures and several pictures of famous Italians, including actors, statesmen and even a few famed Mafiosi. There was a fountain towards the back of the room depicting the Roman god of love Eros with his trademark bow and arrow in hand. A string quartet was set up near the fountain and playing some traditional music from the motherland while the intoxicating odors of breadsticks, spaghetti, strombolis, lasagna and other native dishes dominating the air.

These kinds of environments always had a very tranquilizing effect on Artie, reminding him of the many stories his maternal grandfather Domenico had always told him about from back in 'the old country.' One personal objective he had on his 'bucket list' before he died was to visit Italy and get back in touch with his family's roots.

_"Maybe I'll finally be able to do that when the damned blockade is lifted," _he thought as they were led to a table with a small Italian flag placed in the center, as it had been on all the tables, and they were immediately approached by a young waitress with a healthy olive complexion and long curly black hair.

"Hello and welcome to Montebello's, how may I serve you tonight?" she asked in a pleasant tone.

"Yeah, get us all the biggest bottle of authentic Sicilian wine you've got and I'll take the biggest platter of spaghetti you can spare a hardworking man," Donnie spoke wasting no time in attempting to charm the young waitress.

"I'll take a veggie Stromboli with an order of breadsticks and marinara sauce to go with it!" Gino cut in before his brother could go any further with his attempted overtures, Donnie shooting him a sharp glare as he handed her his menu.

"Give me a plate of lasagna and my own breadsticks, marinara sauce too," Artie said handing her his menu.

"Man, I need to eat at this place more often," Donnie said staring at the young woman's ass until she disappeared into the kitchen and then returning his attention to his family members, "The only downside though would be that I'd be getting fatter than you big brother."

"Don't you ever have anything nice to say?" Gino asked sounding hurt.

"Really man, you need to lay off your brother, he's been through enough," Artie interjected, "I've done my fair share of standing up for him with everything he's been through and you might as well do your share as well," he said motioning towards the short plump man, who began to fidget and look around nervously as if he expected someone had followed him.

"Look at him, he's a grown man! He doesn't need a fucking babysitter!" Donnie protested, "Jeez, you keep treating him like he's a baby and he'll keep feeling as helpless as he does. Look at me; I was on my own as soon as I got out of high school. I didn't have Mom and Dad leading me around by the dick and I turned out perfectly fine!" he spoke, stopping abruptly as a busty redhead walked past them.

"Even if you might think he's a pussy, he's still your brother Donnie and you owe him that much after all the times he was there for you when you were younger," Artie spoke.

"Yeah, even if you're a self-centered, materialistic prick, you and Artie are all that I still have left with Ma and Pa gone, so you might as well start acting like it," Gino stated firmly, feeling empowered by his cousin's presence.

"Fine," Donnie said raising his hands defensively, knowing he was outnumbered and backed into a corner, "When I get my empire in full swing I'll give you a cut of the profits."

"And just when do you plan on getting this empire up and running?" Artie asked before leaning closer and whispering, "When people find out what you did at Hell's Belles I'm sure that'll affect any possible business you might have."

"Oh gimme a fuckin' break will ya'?" Donnie sighed, "With all the hornballs running around in this city I'll never be low on business! You shouldn't be too surprised at how enticing a large pair of breasts is to some poor bastard just getting off his shift at the nearest factory, or to some overworked middle-aged businessman going through a midlife crisis and in need of that 'spark' missing from his life, or to all those bull dykes you hear about visiting from San Fucking Fierro! Exploit a person's hormones and you're always bound to win in the end!

"Fuck, I could go broadcasting to the entire world that I blew up an entire busload of children and nobody would give two fucks about it as long as I've got some big titted Latina waiting to grind on their cock until the cows come home!" Donnie finished pounding his fist on the table, shaking their utensils and inviting the awkward glances of those at the tables surrounding them, "What the fuck are you all staring at? Mind your own fucking business!" he shouted, forcing them to resume their previous routines.

Any sense of empowerment Gino had felt seconds earlier seemed to vanish as Artie looked over to see him once again beginning to fidget and look around nervously.

"You alright?" the hired gun asked.

The eldest Cappelli gasped when he noticed he was being spoken to, but quickly forced himself to calm down, "Y-Yeah…never better…never better…" he wheezed as the droplets of sweat fell from his forehead.

"Sheesh, if you'd actually take the incentive to get out of that shithole dive of yours every once in a while you wouldn't be that damned scared of your own shadow," Donnie grunted.

"Ha, like you'd be out and about if you had some jackass loan shark and a bunch of piss ant hoodlums trying to jump you from all sides the second you step out the door to grab the daily paper," Gino squeaked.

Before the conversation could go any further, the waitress returned with a tray carrying the trio's respective dinners.

"There you are fine gentlemen, you enjoy yourselves and have a good evening!" she said before again disappearing from sight.

"Jeez she's like the fuckin' Brown Streak," Donnie said comparing her speed to his favorite childhood comic book superhero, one who they could always try to wipe out, yet always missed a bit. "Oh well, food's here so let's dig in boys!"

The three Cappellis wasted no time assaulting their food, Artie especially after everything he had already been through today.

_"Never know if I'll ever be able to enjoy another meal like this," _he thought to himself, remembering the multitude of dangerous tasks he had carried out in Rushmore City, knowing each could possibly be his last.

As they were halfway through their meal a Caribbean-accented voice called ut.

"Eh, Donnie Cappelli, what cha' be doin' 'round 'ere?"

Turning around, he found them being approached by a tall Jamaican man in a floor-length mink coat covering a bright green suit with a black dress shirt and gold tie underneath, wearing several different golden necklaces, rings on every finger and a gold Crowex encrusted with diamonds. His hair was worn in long nappy dreadlocks dyed multiple colors and he had a bushy beard and mustache, as well as wearing an expensive-looking pair of shades indoors, a golden-tipped cane in one hand.

"Hey man, how the hell are you doing?" the Cappelli cousin boomed, rising to give the man a hearty embrace, "Oh, where the hell are my manners? Guys this is D.J. Babylon, he's the D.J. over at Rasta 106.9 and one of my poker buddies. Babylon, this is my brother Gino and my cousin Artie."

"Pleased ta' meet cha' all, your brudda be an honorary Rasta as we say in our parts," the D.J. said reaching over to shake hands with Gino.

"Uh yeah, he's just a regular do-gooder," the elder Cappelli said forcing a fake laugh, "Ain't that right Artie me boy?"

"Totally," the youngest Cappelli said with forced enthusiasm, _"Well at least now I know all his 'friends' aren't imaginary," _he thought reaching over to shake Babylon's hand.

"So Donnie me boy, ya' be ready for that party we gonna be havin' this weekend? Gon' be over at da' Montego, gon' be all sortsa' booze, boobs an' blow!" the D.J. laughed.

"My three favorite words in the English language," Donnie laughed while Artie and Gino only looked at each other rolling their eyes.

"Yah mon, we be seein' ya' there!" the D.J. spoke before a gunshot sounded and a second later he collapsed with a bullet through his right eye.

A barrage of automatic fire rang out and all of the patrons and staff members threw themselves to the floor, panicking and screaming.

"There he is!" a voice called out and next thing he knew, Artie found his table being torn apart.

_"What the fuck is going on here?" _he asked himself. He had his back to the direction which the gunfire came from and therefore hadn't gotten a look at the shooters. Now he was hiding behind a table, thankful for the tablecloth hiding him from view of his attackers.

"Who are these people?" Gino whimpered next to him, lying face down with his hands clasped over his head, a huge wet spot pooling beneath him.

Donnie meanwhile had withdrawn his pistol and was returning fire, much to his cousin and brother's chagrin.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Artie demanded.

"What the fuck does it look like? I'm defending myself, that's what the fuck I'm doing!" his cousin retorted, emptying his spent clip and slapping in a fresh one.

Saying nothing, Artie crawled beneath a nearby table and carefully lifted a flap up hoping to get a good view of the gunmen.

Donnie fired a few more rounds and eventually one of the gunmen would collapse to the floor, a blond-haired man with a bullet lodged in his upper right arm.

When Artie took notice of the man's dark blue vest he could feel the blood freeze in his veins.

The man was an Ace!

_"What the fuck are they doing here?" _he thought to himself watching as the man writhed in pain.

Whatever the case was, they were on his side and he couldn't risk harming any of them.

Crawling out from beneath the table Artie began tugging on his cousin's sleeve, "Donnie, you need to stop shooting at them!"

His cousin did as instructed, staring at him awkwardly as another barrage was fired in their direction.

"What the fuck man?" he demanded.

"You heard me, you need to stop shooting at them!" the errand boy hissed.

"Why? They're trying to fucking kill us!" Donnie grunted, holding onto his Beretta with a white knuckle grip.

"I'll tell you later, just get your fucking ass over to the kitchen. There has to be a backdoor we can escape through and then get over to the car. We need to get out of here before the police arrive. Now just do as I say for once!" Artie said reaching over to grab Gino, who stared at both of them with bloodshot eyes and sucking his thumb like a toddler.

"We're making a break for it. When we start running, follow after us, we're heading for the kitchen," Artie told his older cousin, who continued staring far away until Donnie reached over and slapped him upside the head.

"Pay attention you dumb fuck!" he shouted.

Artie glared towards Donnie before returning his attention to Gino and taking a deep breath before repeating himself, "Gino, we're going to make a break for it. When we start running, you follow after us. We're heading for the kitchen; did you get any of that?"

Gino sniffed heavily before nodding sheepishly in reply.

He knew they were taking a risk and he could only hope that none of the Aces present recognized him.

Listening for their footsteps and watching their shadows in the light, Artie waited for the gunmen to get closer and when he could feel them on top of him, shoved the table forward and knocked two of the shooters backward.

"Run!" he screamed, yanking Gino up from the carpeted floor, the three of them bolting for the kitchen as bullets flew around them, glasses being shattered, statues being chipped and paintings torn apart as they ran, also noticing the snooty host being gunned down before their very eyes before throwing themselves through the kitchen doors.

Members of the frightened kitchen staff threw themselves into cover as the trio made their way inside, Donnie eventually managing to grab a fleeing cook by the collar and shoving him hard against a nearby freezer.

"Where's the backdoor outta this place?" Donnie demanded, pressing the still warm barrel of his gun beneath the man's chin.

The man could only whimper his reply, shooting his right hand outward.

"Thank you," Donnie said before pistol whipping him to the floor, "C'mon!" he shouted to his family members.

Running as quickly as they could, the Cappellis made their way into the back alley and rounded the building towards the parking lot, where Artie then took point and ordered his cousins to hang back.

Sneaking over to the building's edge, Artie looked over to see two Ace-owned Vigeros and a Rumpo XL parked in front of the restaurant with four visible blue-clad gang members standing guard.

"Alright, just keep your heads down," the youngest Cappelli ordered taking cover behind an '08 Tampa, his cousins following suit, moving from car to car until they finally reached the waiting Sentinel and Artie slid his key into the slot, opening the door as quietly as he could, leaving Donnie to climb in first and then unlocking one of the backdoors so Gino could slip in, lying down on the backseat in a fetal position.

Slamming his door shut, Artie fired up his engine and sped out of the parking lot, knowing there was no way he would be able to exit without drawing attention, bullets slamming into the car's side as they passed the guards. Looking into the rearview mirror he watched as the Aces piled out of the restaurant making their way for their cars.

_"I can't hurt any of those guys, they're on my side. I'm just going to get as far away from here as I can," _Artie told himself speeding down the street, cutting off a Yankee and forcing it to jackknife, hoping it would slow the pursuing Aces down.

Unfortunately, the smaller, sleeker Vigeros easily bypassed the delivery truck and their occupants wasted no time firing away at the fleeing cousins, prompting Donnie to stick his upper body out the window and return fire.

"Donnie, for God's sakes I told you not to return fire!" Artie screamed taking an abrupt left to dodge an oncoming Bobcat.

"And why the fuck not? Those crazy bastards are trying to kill us!" the elder Cappelli shouted back.

"Because I'm on their side, that's why!" Artie replied.

Donnie looked at him in disbelief, "You're shitting me! What the fuck are you doing running around with those clowns? They're nothing but a bunch of fucking common thugs, too low class for our standards!"

"And what the fuck do you consider those prick Redcoats or their Hellcat bitches? Hell, what about those fucking drugged out Yardie bitches? Maybe they're too low for your standards, but not mine," Artie replied running a red light and cutting off another Sentinel.

"Ha right, next thing I know you're gonna be in bed with some of those bikers running around here," Donnie laughed harshly.

"For your information, I have helped the Luciferians," Artie stated.

"What in the fucking hell? What the fuck makes you think they'd ever roll with our kind? Remember, they hate Italians and pretty much everything else that isn't a white American!" the elder shouted back.

"We don't have time to discuss this. All I'm going to tell you is that they're not the 'lowly thugs' you think they are. They're a group of men and women fighting to protect their community from all the drugs filtering in thanks to those Redcoats and their prick friends," Artie spoke straight and to the point.

"Well if these guys are your friends then why can't you just call them off?" Gino whined from the backseat.

"They don't know I'm with you, that's why. For all I know they probably think I'm one of the bad guys thanks to your baby brother and his itchy trigger finger!" Artie spat.

"Well you should've fucking said something then!" Donnie screamed as more bullets whizzed past him, fighting his urge to fire back, "Jesus Christ I wouldn't have shot at them if I knew they were friends of yours, even if they are a bunch of lowly shithead hooligans!"

Artie ignored his cousin and focused on the road ahead of him, running yet another red light and causing a biker to plow head on into a Contender pickup truck. The two Vigeros swerved around the obstructions and continued their pursuit, now joined by two dark blue Mesa Grandes whose occupants fired upon them with submachine guns.

"Good lord, this is the last time I go out for Italian food anywhere!" Gino squealed.

"You'd better not be pissing yourself back there Gino! I just got that seat deloused after I caught that freak Freda sleeping back there!" Artie shouted, causing Gino to scream in disgust and Donnie to snicker.

Artie took another wide left to dodge an oncoming Feltzer convertible, only to find an Aces-owned Rumpo XL charging towards them, the driver sticking his arm out the window with an MP5 in hand.

"Get down!" Artie shouted to his cousins, lowering his head as a volley of automatic fire was sprayed upon his car, shattering all of the windows and tearing apart the seat's headrests.

"Oh my fucking god," Gino screamed as shards of broken glass rained down upon him, "Please just let all of this be one very fucked up dream!"

"We've gotta fucking fight back! They're going to fucking kill us!" Donnie hollered withdrawing his pistol and firing through the shattered windows, striking the dark blue van a few times, but doing no serious damage.

Slamming the gas pedal down to the floor Artie bolted down the street and eventually happened across a Packer car transport, its tires punctured and its very exasperated driver screaming into his cell phone for assistance. Fortunately its upper ramp had been lowered and was empty, creating another improvised exit.

"Hold on boys, we're gonna fly!" the hired gun announced keeping the car going at its current speed.

"Wasn't once enough for you?" Donnie shouted back grabbing onto his doors armrest.

Artie ignored his cousin's comment and sped up the ramp, sending the car airborne.

"Oh my fucking god! Oh my fucking god! I'm scared of heights! I'm scared of heights!" Gino screamed repeatedly, tears flowing freely down his face.

"We know now shut your fucking mouth!" Donnie cried, just before they hit the ground with a bone-rattling jolt, which would have sent both Artie and his cousin flying had they not been restrained by their seatbelts.

The Sentinel fishtailed violently as it hit the ground and plowed into a parked Schafter, causing its car alarm to go off, but there was no time to slow down they had to keep moving.

Artie watched from his rearview mirror as the two Vigeros sped up the Packer's ramp, the first making it and landing safely on the ground behind them, while the second landed at an awkward angle and rolled over twice before coming to a halt against the same car he had plowed into.

He hated himself for having to do this and prayed the Aces inside were alright, knowing he couldn't slow down and check up on them. One of the Mesa Grandes had stopped to check on the crashed car's occupants while the others continued their pursuit.

"Shit, they're still coming!" Donnie called out.

"Well we're going to lose them one way or another," Artie replied taking yet another left turn into a narrow alley and plowing through trashcans, piles of garbage and a group of hobos congregating around a trashcan fire.

"Hey watch it will ya'! I don't wanna go to jail for being a party to murder!" Gino whined from the back, shuddering as the pursuing Vigeros ran over the hobos Artie had just hit.

"Why don't you watch your fucking mouth 'cause I don't really wanna have to put a bullet in my own brother's face!" Donnie spat as Artie exited the alley in another abrupt right turn, coming within inches of running over a woman in a black pantsuit as he made his exit.

"Fucking assholes!" the woman cried out as the Aces ran past her, throwing all of them the middle finger.

_"C'mon damn it, I've gotta lose these guys at one point or another," _Artie thought to himself as they raced across the Eastwood Bridge, looking down to see he was getting dangerously low on gas, _"There has to be a Pay n' Spray nearby, something where I can lose these guys without hurting any of them."_

Artie was about to run through another intersection when he felt the grinding of metal on metal followed by another ear-piercing shriek from Gino, the remaining Vigero attempting to force him into a fishtail.

"Do something Artie!" Gino screamed from the back as a bullet whizzed past his earlobe, "Who did I piss off in a previous life to deserve such a fate? God I don't wanna die! Lord in Heaven have mercy. What I did ever do to deserve such a fate? Was I not religious enough? I'll seriously start going to church more if I survive this!"

"Okay, now's seriously not the time to be getting religious!" Donnie retorted.

"Put a lid on it both of you!" Artie shouted before another rattle of gunfire, ignoring his bawling older cousin as he struggled against the muscle car, eventually happening across a patch of road under construction.

_"Bingo!" _he told himself, swinging his wheel to the right as far as it would go until he finally forced the Aces' car into the construction site, causing it to become stuck in the mud.

The other Ace vehicles were lagging far behind, a small miracle the luxury car still managed to go this fast and let alone was still moving about.

_"Man, I could kiss Gino for suggesting I take this car of all things," _he thought to himself, but then looked into the backseat to see the short plump man curled into a fetal position and sucking his thumb like a 5 year old who swore he had just seen the boogeyman, _"Okay, maybe not _that_ far."_

"Artie, keep going straight I know this area. There's a Pay n' Spray not far from here!" Donnie called out, recognizing the Queen Sheba's Revue gentlemen's club, telling him they were back in the Red Light District.

"You'd better not be bullshitting me," Artie grunted, feeling annoyed that it took his oversexed cousin noticing a strip club to get them on the right track for once.

"For once I'm not, now you'd just better focus on stepping on it," Donnie replied, noting the smoke billowing out from beneath the loosened hood.

The hired gun sped down the street until he spotted the familiar garage and took an abrupt turn, fishtailing in front of the small building and slowly making his way inside, the door lowering just in time for the Aces to speed past.

"Goddamn that was close!" Donnie exhaled relaxing against his torn apart seat.

Artie's hands were still gripping onto the wheel, his heart threatening to pound right through his chest and breathing in short, ragged gasps. When he felt a hand placed onto his shoulder he shot his hand out and clamped down.

"Ow! Let go Artie! It's me!" Gino yelped feeling his wrist being crushed, "We're safe, you can let go now!"

"And we won't be safe much longer if you don't shut your fucking trap!" Donnie said shoving his older brother off as he could still hear the rumbling engines outside. "Fuckin' A man, I swear traveling with you is like running around with a fucking siren strapped to my head. You're worse than one of those screaming bimbos in one of those slasher flicks-"

"I think we get it," Artie said stopping his cousin in mid-sentence, finally allowing himself to relax as they were approached by the mechanics.

"Oh man, I'm going home tonight and I'm locking all my doors!" Gino whimpered as he carefully climbed out of the backseat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

All of the Aces survived the chase, one of them suffering what was hopefully just a minor flesh wound while the others escaped with bumps and bruises.

They had now gathered in a back lot area and were licking their wounds as a Mesa Grande pulled into view and out stepped the Ace street sergeant Philly.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone and dialed his boss' number.

_"Darius speaking," _the voice boomed from the other end.

"Darius, we managed to take down D.J. Babylon, but the other bastard got away," the sergeant reported.

_"What? How the fuck did you let that weasel slip through your fingers?" _the Aces general growled in disgust.

"He had a damned good driver with him. I didn't get a good look at the guy; I don't think any of the boys did to tell you the truth."

_"Fuck, well knowing him he's probably able to afford better help by this point compared to the other schmucks he's had with him in the past. Is everybody else alright?"_

"Yeah, everybody's fine. Ricky got shot, but he'll live," Philly spoke looking around to his battered subordinates.

_"Alright, round them up and get them back here before anybody else gets hurt. We're going to need to think up a different plan if we're going to nail that guy. We might have to get help from that Artie guy too."_

"Artie Cappelli? Are you serious? Boss, with all due respect we haven't known that guy long. Don't you think maybe he could be too good to be true? How do you know he's not really one of the Redcoats' bitches?" Philly demanded, fighting to sound respectful as he questioned his leader.

_"Well I'm liking what he's doing so far. If he can whack a whole bunch of Redcoats in one sitting, he can damn sure take out one lowly piss ant drug dealer. Now just get the boys rounded up. We've got work to do."_

_XXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Author's Note: This mission was largely inspired by the "Green With Envy" mission from "Saints Row 1."

In this mission you have to find out where Tony Green's hideout is and in doing so, you have to take out Tonya Winters' chauffeur and then drive her around to a few different locations. What happens then is you get a phone call from Julius telling you that Troy has sent some of his boys out thinking they were on a mission to whack Tonya, completely unaware of the Player's own mission. He must then drive around in an effort to lose them without actually hurting any of them as they are his fellow Saints. When he finally does lose them, he then moves onto the next part where he must drive Tonya back to Green's hideout.

I wanted to do something like that to present a similar objective to make things more interesting had this been an actual video game and wondered "What if Artie was placed in a scenario where he's actually told to NOT kill anybody?"

Obviously the Aces have no idea who was driving, so he's still in good standing with them at this point, but obviously he doesn't know it just yet.

Well that's it for my notes so all you can do until then is read and review. This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	32. Most Wanted

Chapter 32: Most Wanted

Opening his mouth as wide as he could, Artie eagerly bit down on the soft shelled burrito, feeling sheer ecstasy as the warmth and taste soothed his soul.

_"Man, this seriously has to be the best Mexican food I've ever tasted," _he thought to himself reaching for some nachos to dip into his salsa, _"I've gotta come here more often, hell I hope this restaurant is part of a chain so I can visit more of these once I get the hell outta this shithole."_

He was in a Mexican restaurant called Casa de Chavez y Chavez during the lunchtime rush, finding the place packed to near capacity. It was a lively atmosphere as mariachi music piped in over the loudspeakers and a big screen TV was playing 'Live from the Chatterbox,' where comedian Gabriel Iglesias was shown onstage performing, many of the patrons laughing at the 'fluffy' comedian in one of his trademark loud Hawaiian shirts as he was currently telling a story about the cops of Rushmore City.

_"Man I tell you, cops around this city do not mess around, yet at the same time they're not exactly the smartest either. Seriously, when I was just arriving here the other night and I'm running late because I missed my flight and I'm driving down the street in this little Rhapsody-" _the comedian was explaining before he was cut off by an overzealous spectator.

_"The Fat and the Furious!" _the man shouted, arousing a few snickers and cheers from the crowd.

_"Yes thank you, now where was I…" _Gabriel trailed before catching himself, _"…oh right, yeah I'm driving around in my ghetto rental when all of a sudden I get pulled over," _he said before making a lifelike police siren sound effect.

_"Here I am in the middle of the night in a back alley hoping I don't get carjacked and this officer is taking forever…forever to get to me and I'm getting annoyed so I decide that when this guy gets over to my window I'm having fun with him like I do with all the other cops now," _he said before letting out a demented high-pitched cackle.

_"So the guy finally gets over to my car," _he continued before making the knocking sound effect, followed by an automatic window lowering and then speaking in a deeper voice, _"Son, do you have any idea why I pulled you over?"_

He then speaks in a thick ghetto accent, _"It's 'cause I'm black!" _he shouted to riotous laughter followed by a few animated facial expressions, _"Aw yeah, wassup playa?"_

The fluffy comedian allowed the laughter to dissipate before continuing, _"I tell you we're in the middle of a darkened street and this guy can't see me, but I can see him and oh my god…you should've seen the look on his face!"_

Resuming the cop voice he said, _"Terribly sorry sir! We don't need another mistake like what those N.O.O.S.E. boys pulled on that college student the other day! You continue about your way and have yourself a good night!"_

_ "Oh boy, I can't believe I was let off that easily and I'm thinking to myself 'My god, I gotta come to this city more often!'" _he said to wild cheers.

Artie returned his attention to his food and ate the rest of his burrito before washing it down with a Funkin' Screw, "Delicious!" he said with the same kind of deep exhale a man takes after taking a huge dump.

It was almost 1 o'clock in the afternoon and he had just woken up a little over two hours ago. With nothing else to do and no food in the refrigerator (no surprise there), he decided to go for a drive and find some place to eat, happening across Casa de Chavez y Chavez in La Reina. It had been a while since he had Mexican and decided to stop and try it out.

_"Best decision I've made all day," _he told himself reaching into his pocket for his Whiz Wireless, remembering he hadn't checked it all day.

There was one unanswered message in his inbox from Donnie.

_"He must've called while I was in the shower," _he told himself seeing he had called at 11:37 a.m. and typed in his entry code to listen to the message.

_"Hey Cuz, it's Donnie! Listen, I just spoke to one of my friends earlier today and he tells me some jackasses have been giving him trouble. He's given me a list of names and is promising $10,000 for a job well done. Call me back as soon as you get this message, or just stop by the house and I'll fill you in on the details. Talk to you later, ciao!"_

"Donnie needs help again already," he whispered to himself and sighed, remembering their ill-fated 'family outing' from last night.

"Oh well, not like I have anything else going on today," he muttered making his way to the men's room and then outside towards his waiting Sentinel, now a sleek black color after having it repainted to lose the Aces.

_"God I hope those guys didn't recognize me," _he thought dialing his cousin's number and waiting four rings until The Ohio Players' 'Love Rollercoaster' came into play. Not even bothering to listen to his cousin's greeting he switched the phone off and started the car up, switching over to the Yakbox 96.7 talk radio station before proceeding to his cousin's condo.

XXXXXXXXXX

It didn't take long to reach Donnie's place over in Lakeview and when Artie stepped out he noticed several cars parked outside, including a police cruiser.

"Must be having some of his 'friends' over that he's always talking about," he whispered to himself, feeling slightly uneasy at the sight of the patrol car and wondering why he would let a cop of all people over, unless the guy was a corrupt son of a bitch of course. He walked across the lawn figuring he would just be there to talk to his cousin and then get out and do whatever it was he wanted.

_"Guess I can't be in a position to ask too many questions when we're talking $10,000 at the end of the rainbow," _he thought walking up and ringing the doorbell.

There was no immediate response and he rang the bell again, depressing the button longer this time. He could hear muffled voices coming from within, unable to make out exactly what they were saying.

_"Wonder if he'll even be able to tell me everything I need to know anyway. Knowing Donnie, he's always got his eyes on the nearest woman's ass," _Artie thought to himself staring off to the side just as the door finally opened.

"Oh hey Cuz, I didn't-" Artie started, but then stopped as he looked back towards the door.

Greeting him at the door was Evie, the attractive stylist from the Hair Game salon, standing before him wearing nothing but a pair of sheer black stay-up stockings.

The hired gun was at a total loss for words and felt the warm drool seep from the corners of his mouth.

"Oh hey, I recognize you! You're Donnie's cousin! How are you doing?" she giggled.

Artie could not reply right away, too entranced by her curvaceous Latin figure, his eyes fixated on her large breasts, to which she didn't seem to mind at all.

"I…I…I'm…doing fine…" he managed to stutter, his eyes traveling south to her well-toned thighs, long legs and lastly her Brazilian wax job.

"I'm guessing you must be here for Donnie, right?" she asked with pout that soon turned to a sly smile, "Or are you here for one of us 'lonesome ladies?'" she asked with a seductive purr.

"God I wanna fuck you so badly," Artie blurted out, catching himself when he realized he had just said that aloud, "Sorry…I'm terribly sorry!"

"It's okay sweetie, but you'll have to wait for later 'cause we're all in the middle of something. You might as well come in though," she said motioning for the errand boy to follow her inside, finally catching a glimpse of her well-rounded ass as she turned on her heel. It was there he found his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he had to do everything he could to not tackle her that woman to the floor and start fucking her right on the spot.

_"Get a grip Artie, why would you ever wanna fuck Donnie's leftovers in the first place?" _he asked himself, shuddering at the thought of sex with somebody his cousin had already slept with, increasing his risk of contracting an S.T.D.

"_But at the same time…her ass is like a work of art," _he thought, feeling his 'other head' taking control as he witnessed her amazing ass sway back and forth with every step she took as she led him to the living room.

"Looks like we've got another guy here to join us ladies," Evie announced leading him into a room where more beautiful nude women waited, all of whom greeted him in unison.

"_Goddamn it Artie…you've fucking died and gone to Heaven!"_

Seated on the couch he instantly recognized Amethyst from Queen Sheba's Revue and Vanessa the masseuse. Standing behind them was a tall, well-built blonde wearing nothing but a pair of black stockings and a garter belt, which he recognized right away despite her lack of clothes.

"Dr. Casey?" he asked, remembering her as the same doctor who had treated his wounds following his fight at the Bear Cage.

"Oh Mr. Cappelli it's nice to see you again," she spoke adopting a business-like tone, "And how have you been feeling since your last visit? Have your wounds been healing well?"

"Um yeah…they're doing just fine…thank you very much," Artie replied, scratching the back of his neck as he took the time to scope her out, "God, you look even better without your clothes on," he blurted out, catching himself again when he realized his sudden slip up.

Two identical redheads then walked into the room.

"Ooh, another big strong American man to join us," one of them spoke in a thick Russian accent.

"Uh yeah, my cousin called me over here; he said he needed to talk to me about something. Whenever he's available please let him know that I'm here," Artie said while struggling to control his hormones.

"Oh, you sure you not want to stay and have good time with all of us?" the other twin spoke, displaying a weaker command of English than her sister.

"I'd love to really…really I would…" the hired gun replied feeling another woman approach him from behind, suggestively rubbing along his arm, this woman the same olive-skinned beauty who had served them the night before at Montebello's, puckering her lips playfully at him.

"Alright ladies, the Don is ready and willing to go!" Donnie Cappelli called out stepping into view, handcuffed to a shapely brunette wearing nothing but a police officer's cap.

When he noticed his cousin, his eyes widened and he grabbed a nearby pillow to cover himself up.

"Artie, what the fuck?" he screamed.

"Ahh…nasty!" Artie cried shielding his eyes to prevent him from looking at his naked cousin, "Put some fucking clothes on will ya'?"

"What are you doing here?" the elder Cappelli demanded as he desperately reached for a nearby royal blue bathrobe, unable to get it on due to him being handcuffed to the cop, so instead he was forced to wrap it around his waist like a towel.

"You called me here numb nuts!" Artie replied only daring to look when his cousin was covered up.

"I did?" Donnie asked dumbfounded.

"Yeah, you called me at 11:37 telling me that you needed my help with something," he said, careful not to reveal too much in front of the women.

"Oh yeah, now I remember…if only you would've answered your phone right away like a good cousin you wouldn't have caught me at an inopportune time," the elder Cappelli spoke, his tone of annoyance suddenly changing as he turned to address the women, "Not that I'm calling my time with any of you 'inopportune,' trust me that's not the case! I enjoy being within the presence of such beautiful women…just not some chucklehead who doesn't understand the concepts of answering his phone or showing up on time!" he said looking over to his cousin.

"Fuck you," Artie boomed.

Donnie then turned his attention down to the handcuffs, "Okay Lisa, where's the key?"

"Shit, I think I left it in the car," she replied.

"Fuck," Donnie muttered, "Guess you're coming with us then," he said motioning for his cousin to follow him into another room.

"You sure you're not going in there to have a threesome?" Amethyst called out, "I've always wanted to do it with two guys who were related!"

"Yeesh! Fuck no, we're not _that_ sick!" Donnie called back, "At least I _hope_ we're not," he said looking back to Artie, who shuddered in disgust.

The trio made their way into a well-furnished bathroom where Donnie shut the door behind them.

"Look away please," he said to the woman, who did as told, giving Artie a glimpse of her full booty and the flowery tramp stamp on her lower back.

"Okay, now getting down to business," Donnie started before noticing his cousin's wandering eyes, "hey, pay attention will ya'!"

"Sorry," Artie said raising his hands defensively, _"Jesus Fucking Christ I'm starting to act like Donnie with all these hot naked ladies around me."_

"What's the scoop?" the errand boy asked getting down to business.

"Alright, some dickheads have been causing problems for a friend of mine, real lowlife motherfuckers," Donnie explained.

"Yes, very low-level, big time troublemakers," Lisa added.

"Well you're a cop; shouldn't you be out busting them? Or is that cap just part of a stripper's costume?" Artie inquired, earning a sharp glare from Donnie.

"We're a little too caught up in that Aces/Redcoats war," the naked officer spoke, "So we don't have much time for the other dirtbags running around this island."

"Okay, should we really be discussing this stuff in front of an actual cop then?" Artie asked looking nervously towards his cousin.

"Relax Cuz, she's cool," the elder Cappelli replied with a wink to the woman before continuing, "Anyways, these guys have been causing all sorts of trouble for my friend, whether it's ripping him off, destroying his goods, or fucking his wife behind his back. He's decided that he's had enough and this is where you come into play my dear cousin."

"And I'm reading your mind already…" Artie said still reluctant to say the rest in front of Lisa.

"These bastards need to be dealt with by any means necessary and in ways that don't leave them breathing in the end," Donnie replied, giving Lisa a hard slap on her bare ass with his free hand.

"Okay, so then just who are these bastards and how do I find them?" the errand boy inquired, a little put off by his cousin's abrupt action.

Reaching into the bathrobe's pocket Donnie produced a slip of notebook paper and handed it to his cousin, "Their names are listed on that piece of paper, that's all I myself can tell you."

"These guys could be anywhere around the city. How exactly do you expect me to find them?" Artie asked narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

"You'll have to get your hands on a squad car. Every one of them has a built-in computer you can use to access a person's file by typing in their name or using a photo," Donnie replied, just as Lisa reached for a set of car keys resting on a nearby counter.

"You can use my car," she said offering them to Artie, "Only under one condition, you cannot tell anybody else on the force I was ever here in any shape or form. For all the captain knows, I'm supposed to be on duty right now."

"Alright, you have my word as a grateful taxpayer," the hired gun replied in a tone dripping sarcasm as he accepted the keys.

"Oh, and leave the handcuff key under the front doormat before you go," Donnie said raising his and Lisa's joined wrists.

"Sure thing," Artie said slipping the list into his pocket and making his way back into the living room.

"Goodbye big strong American man, we be waiting for you soon!" one of the Russian twins called out.

"Bye Artie, stop by the salon sometime!" Evie called out.

"Will do!" he replied hastily making his way outside before his hormones could once again take charge. He made his way over to the waiting squad car, finding the handcuff keys and placing them under the doormat as instructed, deciding to be a nice guy for once.

"_Maybe I should've taken them with me, give my hornball cousin something to suffer over," _he thought climbing into the cruiser and accessing the computer, _"Then again, he'd probably murder me for it anyway. Oh well, at least I'd be going down with a smile on my face."_

First up on the list was a man named Diego Cardenas, having been arrested several times for both dealing and possession of controlled substances, as well as several accounts of public lewdness, one of which left him unable to go anywhere within one hundred feet of a school.

"_Obviously this is the guy fucking the man's wife behind his back," _Artie made a mental note of as he read through the man's dossier, which indicated he was known to frequent the gentlemen's clubs around the Red Light District, particularly Woody's Topless Bar and Buffet.

"_At least Officer Lisa was kind enough to leave all her equipment in the car," _he smirked finding her Beretta M9, Remington 870 shotgun, nightstick and stun gun all left in the car, _"Although that's probably not a good thing in most senses," _he noted believing it constituted police incompetence.

"Oh well, I'm the law for now," Artie remarked pulling out of Donnie's driveway and making his way towards the Red Light District.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The trip back to Lincoln Island involved taking a swing past The Little Black Book, where he again spotted a line of people waiting outside the front entrance and Dal acting as the doorman this time. It was a pleasing sight for him that the bar was finally in the midst of becoming profitable and that it wasn't a 'one night only' kind of deal like he feared, given his cousin's propensity for bad luck.

"_I don't know if it'll last though. Knowing Gino, he'll probably try taking his earnings and double it, only to wind up falling flat on his ass and with a new pair of cement shoes at the bottom of the Komojack River like he's always rambling on and on about," _Artie thought with a sigh while passing through Camden Heights.

Within moments he was making his way into the Red Light District, where a few streetwalkers greeted him with dirty looks, normal looking people who were probably secretly on the wrong side of the law and had reason to have a certain kind of reaction towards anybody caught driving around in a squad car.

"_Then again, I don't have the kind of pair of tits Lisa does," _he thought taking a left turn, _"Soon as this mission's over I'm ditching this car," _he noted while passing a group of scowling bikers, one of them making the 'throat slitting' gesture at him.

"Heh yeah, I'm happy to see you too buddy," Artie muttered taking a right onto the street where Woody's Topless Bar and Buffet was located, which didn't appear too populated for this time of day judging by the lack of cars out front and in the nearby parking lot. He was only going by what he was given in the man's record and hoped he would be able to act upon that alone.

"_And if not, guess I'll have to jump anybody I can around here for answers," _he thought pulling to a halt in front of the strip club as he tried to remember the mental image from the man's mug shot.

"_Now that I think about it, I have seen this guy around somewhere. I actually gave this guy a cab ride back when I was shooting that reality TV pilot for Tennyson. In fact, this was the very place I dropped him off at," _he thought making his way towards the front door, which was guarded by a tall, muscular man in a black 'Security' t-shirt with his hair worn in a buzzcut and a Marine Corps tattoo on his right forearm.

"Alright pal, I'm sorry but I've gotta search you for weapons before I can let you enter. It's a new policy we have after some of those Aces were here and got into a shootout with some Redcoats," the man explained uncrossing his arms.

Artie sized the man up and reached into his pocket, pulling out five one-hundred dollar bills and waving them in the man's face.

"Well I'm sure some of your favorite Founding Father can persuade you into leaving a man to enjoy his silicone-enhanced fun in peace now, can't you?" the errand boy asked with a sly smirk.

The guard eyed him warily before he was overcome by sudden temptation, "Heh, fuck it! Go on in and have yourself a good ol' time," the doorman replied eagerly snatching up the money and stepping aside.

"Typical stupid ape," Artie whispered under his breath while making his way inside.

As it was with any strip club he visited, it was a gathering of mostly men throwing away their hard earned money for the fine ladies either dry humping the brass poles or gyrating on some man's lap while "I Get Off" by Halestorm blasted over the loudspeakers, except this place also had a buffet.

It was a pretty lively atmosphere and Artie had to mentally kick himself to remember that he was here on 'official business,' especially as an attractive Filipina dancer began sizing him up and seductively beckoned him forth. Unable to resist, the Italian-American walked up and offered her a twenty dollar bill, but that wasn't good enough and she grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him forth and shoving his face between her breasts. When she finally released him he politely nodded and resumed his mission.

"_Goddamn I've already seen enough tits and ass in one day to last me for the entire week," _Artie told himself barely dodging a scantily-clad waitress in a large cowboy hat, looking around the bar for his target hoping he was there and that him wasting $520 hadn't all been in vain.

He maneuvered around a few drunken patrons and walked towards the back of the club, where he found a sitting area with some comfortable loveseats and on one of them he spotted a Hispanic man with two dancers grinding on his lap. Peering a little closer he recognized the man from the database mug shot. It was Diego Cardenas, wearing the same red and black puffy jacket and blinged out jewelry he had on when Artie gave him that cab ride a while back.

As the current song ended the dancers stood up and wiped the sweat from their bodies.

"Alright sweetie, it's been fun but we've got other gentlemen around here who are in dire need of some 'special attention' if you know what I mean," one of the dancers spoke.

"Ah hey, c'mon mami, ya' can' be done just yet. I got plenty more where that came from and not just the money either," Diego spoke to the two ladies as he stood up, "but first I gotta take a whiz so hold up tight an' I'll be back soon!"

"You'd better come back cheapskate, we don't make rent by sitting around while you go play with yourself in the bathroom," the other dancer called out as he vanished into the men's room.

It was a perfect opportunity and Artie followed after the man, leaping to the side as another patron was placed in a full nelson and dragged out by a beefy bald security guard. Making sure there were no cameras in sight, he casually walked into the bathroom where he found his target at one of the urinals.

Without a word he played like he was about to enter one of the stalls and watched as Diego carried out his 'business,' muttering something to himself in Spanish. Pulling out the stun gun, Artie charged it up and snuck up on the drug dealer, jabbing it into the back of his neck.

Diego fell to the floor convulsing violently and Artie grabbed him by the collar, dragging him into the opened stall. Shutting the door behind them he pulled out the nightstick and proceeded to bash the man's skull in, but remained careful enough to not get any blood on him. With a final crack he knew the job was finished.

"_That's one down," _he thought to himself making his way over to a sink to wash his hands.

There was no time to sit back and collect his thoughts. There were two more targets on Donnie's compiled hit list and he needed to get them taken out as soon as possible. For once he felt grateful for the blockade, knowing it meant they couldn't skip town he told himself as he casually strolled out of the strip club, again doing what he could to avoid the temptation from all the hot naked ladies around him.

"_Damn it, this would've been easier if I were gay," _he told himself, watching as an athletic Latina slowly stripped out of her faux police uniform and down to nothing but her fishnet stockings underneath. With a forcible yank of his neck he returned his attention to the front door and made his way back outside towards the waiting patrol car and climbed inside.

Pulling out the list he saw the next name was that of a 'Latrell Riggins.'

He whispered the name to himself while typing the perp's name into the R.C.P.D. database, revealing him as a pudgy African-American male who appeared to be in his late twenties, currently out on parole after having done time for credit card fraud and extortion.

"_Another dead man," _he thought to himself closing the database and starting the car up, making his way towards the Little Jamaica district.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Artie made his way into the Yardie-controlled district with the car's lights flashing and siren going, sending several cars pulling to the side, as well as several of the Caribbean gangsters running for cover, believing him to be a real cop.

"_Man, these drugged out psychos have no problem attacking me, yet they're scared of the actual cops?" _the hitman asked himself, finding the sight humorous, _"Unless they're actually sober for once in their lives and not high out of their mind on whatever shit it is they're on," _he noted, thinking one of them would have charged head on frothing from the mouth with a machete in hand.

He needed to get over to Surrey Drive, where Riggins' address was listed, and he wanted to get there fast, not knowing the man would still be home or not.

"I've gotta ride around in one of these more often," he remarked aloud, smiling at the other cars swerving out of his way, including a Sentinel that rammed into a Yardie-owned Lobo, _"As long as I'm the driver and not in the backseat, only car I can think of where I don't wanna be in that position."_

He made a left turn onto Surrey, interrupting a drug deal in progress, finding it to be a surprisingly upscale part of town lined with modest, yet comfortable-looking apartment buildings, the one place he wouldn't expect to find a convicted felon residing.

"_No doubt paid for by extortion and credit card fraud," _Artie told himself slowing the car down to carefully read the buildings' numbers, _"All that matters is he's going to be a dead man sooner than later."_

Eventually he came to a six story apartment building that had been painted a gaudy shade of light green. He pulled the patrol car to a halt in front of the tenement and noticed a few shady-looking characters standing around with their hands in their pockets as if they were serving as lookouts.

"Fuck," Artie muttered to himself keeping a hand at the ready for his newly-acquired Beretta as he observed the men, knowing they had seen him exit the car, but didn't know if his casual clothes would be enough to convince them he wasn't an actual cop, especially as a young kid barely out of high school in a black hoodie with a skeleton design began sizing him up like he was ready to challenge him.

"_Crap, this little shithead's gonna fuck things up," _Artie thought until the honk of a car's horn came from right behind him, causing him to whirl around with the Beretta drawn.

"Oh shit, Artie don't shoot! It's just me! It's just me man!" Randy Spitz called out from the front passenger seat of a Tahoma, clad in what appeared to be a plastic Viking helmet and football shoulder pads decked out in spikes that were barely staying glued on.

"Randy, what the hell are you doing here? You're going to get me fucking killed!" Artie hissed the last part before looking over his shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief none of the suspicious-looking men hadn't reached for any concealed firearms of any kind just yet.

"Ar-Ar-Artie…jus-just please l-let me ex-explain!" the nerdish man stuttered before finally taking a deep breath and catching himself, "There's no need to go pulling out your guns like that!"

"What you need to explain to me is what the fuck you are doing here?" the impatient hitman snapped.

"Relax Artie, we were passing through and I saw you here and I was just wondering if you wanted to join us over at Hawking Park," Randy nervously explained.

"Dressed like that?" Artie asked again looking over the ex-cashier's costume.

"Yeah, we're going LARP-ing today. You wanna join us?" Randy said motioning towards his friends in the car while producing a crudely crafted morning star.

"Ferguson's bringing the cupcakes today," called out a narrow-faced man from the backseat who had fake elves' ears placed over his real ones and was clad in a purple mage's robe, "His mom makes the best!"

Artie stifled laughter as he looked over the other young men in the car with his long suffering friend, all of them clad in similar Medieval-inspired costumes, _"Jesus Sheep Fucking Christ, no wonder you're all still a bunch of virgins living in your mothers' basements."_

"Sorry, but I'm in the middle of something. I'll talk to you later," Artie replied, his voice cracking beneath the pressure of his suppressed laughter as he brusquely walked away from the group of nerds. At the same time he found himself wanting to strangle Randy.

"_That's the second time that turd's nearly gotten me killed," _Artie thought, remembering a while back when he received that text message from him while hiding from those N.O.O.S.E. operatives in the garage, barely escaping with his life from the confined quarters, all because he just had to boast of him getting what was likely yet another shitty dead end minimum wage job.

He made his way towards the apartment building, ignoring the snickers of those same suspicious-looking fellows who had been sizing him up, making his way into the building's foyer and over to the line of mailboxes to his right, scanning through the list of names until he came to the one he was looking for.

"Latrell Riggins, 34C," he muttered to himself and began making his way up the stairs to the third floor.

The corridor was devoid of life, but Artie could hear the signs of life coming from within the surrounding apartments, either being a man shouting at his TV over the Rushmore Chompers blowing yet another important play, the loud moans of a couple having sex, a baby wailing loudly, a man yelling at and assaulting a woman who spoke no English, and even some guy playing an organ and singing a god awful rendition of 'Amazing Grace,' which Artie attempted to block out, developing a severe case of tunnel vision as he scanned the numbers on each door before finally happening across Latrell's apartment.

Looking around to make sure he wasn't followed Artie then placed an ear to the door listening for any activity coming from within, hearing a cluster of electronic beeps.

"Man nigga', you couldn't shoot your way outta a nut sack if you're life depended on it," a voice called out.

"Hey, fuck your bitch ass! You oughta' be one to talk the way you nearly shot your pecker off the other night!" the other gamer shot back.

"Hey Latrell, when you gonna share some of that shit ya' got this morning? I can tell by the smell alone it's some Grade A muthafuckin' Jamaican grass!" one of the men shouted.

"Yeah, c'mon an' quit bein' so fuckin' greedy nigga!"

"_He's here," _Artie mentally noted, ready to plan on his next course of action.

"_Alright, what's next? Do I nicely knock on the door? No, he'll want to know what's up. Can't tell him I'm the pizza delivery guy, sure as hell not saying I've got some flowers for him, yeesh! Doubt he's expecting the cable guy. Could say I was his parole officer, but then again I don't have a fucking death wish," _Artie told himself just as he heard the bubbling of water from within, followed by some deep exhales.

"Man nigga, that's some good fuckin' shit ya' got there!" one of the men chuckled.

"I only get the best," Latrell Riggins replied, "Ain't no low quality shit going into these fuckin' lungs."

"_Hmm, they sound pretty stoned if you ask me. Maybe I could go for the more heavy-handed approach," _Artie told himself before realizing _"Why the fuck am I sitting here thinking about this?" _and brought his foot up kicking the door in.

The thunderous crack stirred the apartment's inhabitants from their drug-induced hazes and Artie found himself in the living area with three other men present.

"Latrell Riggins," the hitman spoke.

"I ain't goin' back motherfucker!" Riggins screamed bolting into the adjoining room while one of his cohorts reached for an Uzi.

"You're going someplace alright, but not where you think," Artie grunted as he dove back into the hallway to avoid the cluster of bullets fired in his direction, sticking his arm back through the doorway and blind firing upon his attackers.

"Bitch gonna pay," one of the men shouted as the shatter of glass and the crackle of sparks followed his counteroffensive.

Both of Riggins' associates returned fire and there were screams heard coming from the adjoining dwellings.

"_Smooth move Howitzer," _Artie thought to himself, waiting for both of the wildly firing men to run out of ammo before making his move.

A loud click sounded from within the flat and the hitman leapt into action, squeezing off three rounds that caught a tall skinny man with a frizzy afro in the chest and falling backwards onto a coffee table littered with empty beer bottles and random paraphernalia.

"Motherfucker gonna pay!" the other man shouted, yet Riggins was nowhere in sight.

"Yeah, yeah all you druggy bitches say the same thing," Artie replied, firing another round that sailed past the man's head and embedded itself in a book on a nearby shelf, knowing he needed to finish the goon off and find his target.

The second man, another scrawny man wearing a black beanie and a sagging black t-shirt, again returned fire with his own Uzi, but he must have been high enough as most of his rounds soared wide over Artie's head and then his gun clicked empty, leaving him open for the hitman to fire a lethal double tap into his chest and send him collapsing against the nearby steam pipes.

"Alright Latrell, where the hell are you?" Artie asked making his way through the trashed living room and taking a left into the man's bedroom, finding his window opened.

Latrell Riggins was already scaling the second to last flight of stairs as Artie threw a leg out and made his way onto the fire escape.

"You motherfucking asshole! I ain't going back!" Riggins repeated before reaching the ladder, "You pigs are all the same! A brother can't catch a break around here, but Mr. Whitey always gets off with a slap on the wrist!"

It was almost humorous to the hitman, _"Bastard really thinks I'm a cop."_

Artie continued his way down the fire escape until he was at the very end and found himself sliding down the ladder and coming to the end of the alley, where Riggins was struggling to pull himself over thanks to his excess bulk, only managing to make it over when his pursuer was just a few feet away from him.

"Got you locked down punk," the hired gun shouted continuing his pursuit, able to leap over the fence a bit easier.

Riggins sprinted towards a teal Marbelle parked in a small lot behind the building, turning to fire over his shoulder, only to find to his horror that his pistol had jammed.

"Sucks to be you," Artie taunted, just before he fired a round and caught the young man in his side, leaving him to scream in agony. In spite of the pain coursing through his body, the fleeing dealer gripped a hand to his side and continued staggering towards the waiting sedan.

The hired gun just shook his head at the stubborn man's persistence and fired three more rounds into the fleeing punk.

One of the bullets caught Latrell in the back of his lung and he fell hard against the nearby dumpster, slicing his back open on a sharpened edge and screaming out in pain before connecting with the pavement.

"Motherfucker…" he weakly rasped.

"Now is that any way to be talking about your own mother?" Artie mused walking over to the dying man and standing tall over him.

"Who the fuck sent you?" Riggins managed to get out before coughing up more blood, his time nearly at its end.

"If I told you I'd have to kill you," Artie answered looking down to his gun and then back to the dealer, "What the hell am I saying? You're already dead punk."

Latrell Riggins was unable to verbally reply as more blood seeped out through his pursed lips, his dark eyes glaring hatefully towards his killer until they rolled back into his head and he was no more.

"Two down," Artie muttered to himself before turning on his heel and walking away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two targets had been successfully eliminated and now it was down to the final name listed, one Tobias Henderson, remembering the picture from his dossier as that of a Caucasian male with a shaved head and a swastika tattooed between his dark eyes. Further information listed him as belonging to the Whiteskins M.C. and that he had already been busted on several counts of gang related violence, as well as drug trafficking, money laundering and auto theft.

"_Great Donnie, you're going to get me into trouble with yet another gang," _Artie thought to himself approaching the onramp towards Roosevelt Hills making a mental note of the man's address, which was located at the Valhalla Trailer Park over in Cobalt Hollow, letting out a drawn out shudder at the thought of being surrounded by all the alcoholic, gun-toting, bible-thumping white trash rednecks residing there.

Given the fact this man belonged to an outlaw motorcycle gang didn't help matters much either, knowing where there was one there were likely three, four, maybe even ten more nearby. They liked to travel in packs he reminded himself as he made his way onto the ramp and into the countryside that made up Roosevelt Hills, where the skyscrapers of Washington Dell were quickly replaced by small hamlets and farms and where most of the fancy sports cars were replaced by tractors and other farm-related vehicles.

In this kind of patrol car he knew right away he would stand out as a city boy, passing Mama Pearl's Diner where two sheriff's deputies reclined against a rural police Ranger, eying him up as if he were encroaching upon their territory.

"_Yeah, I'm happy to see you too," _he sarcastically thought passing them by, slowing down a little to take in the B-29 that was perched behind the diner, where a group of tourists stopped their Journey RV to take pictures.

According to a map in the car, the aforementioned trailer park was at the far western end of the city limits, not far from the Cox Rock Quarry, and if he kept on this road he should be there within a few minutes.

"_As long as I keep my ass moving," _Artie told himself as he passed the Vincent Scrapyard, the old lady sitting out front offering him a wave, the first friendly gesture he had noticed since entering the area. Feeling generous he returned the friendly gesture before continuing with his journey.

He continued further along the highway and past some more 'mom and pop' type businesses before happening across a sign telling him he was just one mile removed from the Valhalla Trailer Park and right away he assumed things would be sketchy for someone spotted in a city-based black and white.

As he drew nearer to the trailer park he ended up passing a small ghost town like the kind he would expect to find in a western movie, two rows of weathered, boarded up buildings with a small two story building at the end he assumed must have served as the town hall at one point.

A group of savage-looking people stared darkly towards him, all armed with crude weapons, similar to those hobos he had encountered at the abandoned drive-in while trying to help out Randy. Apparently the problem of violence created by homelessness was an issue reaching further beyond the confines of Lincoln Island and the hitman floored it on past them, not in the mood for the kind of distraction they would present.

"_Like a scene straight out of 'Delivery," _he thought to himself, _"I can tell already those freak jobs wouldn't be shy at all about killing something and then raping its carcass afterward."_

Artie continued further along until he spotted the fenced in compound that was the Valhalla Trailer Park.

Like any typical trailer park, the area was lined with dozens of beaten up old trailers with cheap old beaters parked in front of them. In addition, there was also a small playground with a picnic area and volleyball court set up next to it and a couple of small buildings, the largest which housed a Laundromat, video arcade, liquor store and fishing supply shop all in one.

Knowing of the general lowlifes who typically resided in trailer parks, Artie parked the cruiser at a safe distance down the road and continued forth, passing another police-owned Ranger, this one rocking up and down with loud moans coming from within, once again causing the hitman to let out a bitter laugh at the kind of protection offered in these parts.

Putting the thought at the back of his head, Artie strolled through the gate past a visibly drunken man in a soiled green wife beater and then past a fire pit where a few rednecks were sitting around a fire roasting what appeared to have been a large dog while drinking a few beers and going on and on about how they thought Republican mayor Ron Walker was a 'god among men' and how they wished they could shoot his Democratic challenger Robert Kretchell for daring to challenge 'their man.'

"Eh you, yeah you! City slicker!" a voice suddenly called out.

"What the fuck now?" Artie hissed to himself whirling around to find a balding overweight hillbilly in a heavily stained white wife beater and denim cutoffs marching towards him with a beer can in one hand and a hockey stick in the other. _"Oh great, just what I need," _he thought as the rednecks gathered around the roast rose from their lawn chairs to join the man.

"Fine, what do you want?" the hired gun sighed.

"Y'know, we don' take to kindly to you an' your kind makin' your presence felt 'round here," the lead redneck spoke in a thick Southern drawl.

"And just what the hell could I have done to so greatly offend a man of your esteemed character?" Artie sarcastically replied, eyes drawn to a noticeable mole on the man's left cheek.

The nameless man spat a wad of tobacco into his beer can before speaking, "Boy, don't cha be gettin' fresh wit' me! Don' think I won't tan your pretty hide for one second!"

"Excuse me, but I wasn't the one who decided to accost somebody just for walking in out of the blue. This is a free country and I can go wherever I damn well please! Who the hell do you think you are to think this is your own private domain?" Artie snapped, clearly losing his patience and struggling to not fire a round of buckshot into the man's bulbous gut, if the shell would even be able to punch through.

"Heh, typical city boy, always comin' in here like ya' own the place an' flappin' yer gums like ya' think yer better than ev'rybody else!" spoke up a bare-chested, weasel-faced man in a high nasally tone, his red hair worn in a mullet.

"Yeah, if you ask me we oughts ta' be roastin' his punk ass instead of Billy Ray's dog!" spoke up another long-haired hick wearing a green Don Beere baseball cap and a white sleeveless t-shirt with a Confederate flag proclaiming _'The South Will Rise Again.'_

"Heh yeah, this yuppie's got that commie Kretchell's stench all over 'im!" added a toothless gray-haired guy at the back of the pack with a red headband and black Hank Williams Jr. t-shirt.

"Hey, I'm not here to cause any trouble with you," Artie said raising his hands defensively, "Believe me I'm not. I'm just here to visit with an old friend I haven't seen in forever. Now if you'll excuse me, how about you just let me go about my own way and I'll let you 'fine gentlemen' go back to sleeping with your sisters."

"By golly he's got a point," spoke the bare-chested hillbilly, "I ain't gotten the chance ta' give poor Brandie Mae her 'vitamins!' or whatever the big word be that those city slickers call 'em. Help her sleep through it all!"

"Shut up Billy Ray!" the leader snapped before returning his attention to Artie, "Now this be yer last warnin' city boy, either ya' gets your scrawny faggot ass on outta here or we're gon' be teachin' ya' some of our ol' rough justice!"

"Heh, like I'm scared of your xenophobic fat ass," Artie chuckled towards the leader.

"What chu' say boy?" the man hollered dropping his beer can and going for a swing of his hockey stick.

"Let me make myself clear," Artie said before delivering a right hook into the man's right cheek, sending him falling to the gravel and causing his buddies to back up, "I told you I wasn't here to give you any trouble, but would you listen to me? No!" he shouted following up with a soccer kick to the man's considerable gut, feeling the rolls of flab vibrate as his foot connected.

"You think I'm going to apologize to some sister-fucking fucktard like you? Jesus Goddamned Fucking Christ! How many chins does your son have? Your baby girls got webbed toes too? How many of them do you fuck at night? I mean surely you've fucked your first cousin right? When did you fuck your last cousin you fat, ugly son of a bitch?" Artie screamed as he kicked the man relentlessly in the blubbery surface numerous times.

The man's cries of pain indicated he actually felt the boot connecting with his stomach and his buddies could only look on in horror, proving they were all bark and no bite.

"What part of 'I'm not here to give _you_ any trouble' and 'Mind _your own_ fucking business' did not get through your thick inbred skull? For one final time fuck you, you cock sucking piece of fucking shit!" Artie screamed before stomping hard on the man's testicles, forcing him to throw up a torrent of blood.

"Fuck you asshole," the hired gun hissed one last time before spitting on his fallen opponent, "Oh wait, I'm sorry your horse already did that for you," he called out over his shoulder before walking away.

"_The poster child for birth control. Fucking white trash," _Artie thought to himself while trying to mentally recall the number of Tobias Henderson's address, eventually coming across a heavily dinged up green and white trailer with several motorcycles parked out front.

Withdrawing his shotgun he crept around to the empty backyard, finding a garage and the sounds of raucous laughter and oldies rock coming from within.

"Damn brother, you gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," a voice called out as Artie took cover behind the stripped down frame of a former Stallion muscle car.

The moans from a pornographic movie could be heard below the radio's din, followed by some loud whistles.

"Hey Toby, come check this blonde out!" another man called out, "I'd almost swear that's your sister there man!"

"_Alright, he's here," _Artie told himself as he crept up to the building and peered through one of the smashed grimy windows to see six grubby men inside, but none of them matching Henderson's physical description.

"Fuck you all, I gotta take a piss!" one of the men announced, prompting Artie to rush back for cover behind the rusted Stallion frame.

A burly man with long sandy blond hair emerged from the garage and made his way over to the wilted, yellowed remnants of a shrub and proceeded to relieve himself, far enough away from the garage's entrance and with his back to Artie.

Firing up the stun gun the hired gun crept up on the burly man and jabbed it into the side of his neck, knocking him out cold.

With the one man incapacitated he crept towards the garage's side door and looked to see two new faces inside, one of them being a tall baldheaded man.

"Henderson," he whispered pumping the shotgun before kicking the door open and firing into the chest of the thug closest to him, a burly dark-haired man with a Viking-like beard who had been leafing through a 'Playhouse' magazine.

It was time to show no mercy, knowing none would be shown to him.

"Motherfucker! Kill the yellow bastard!" Henderson shouted scrambling for an Uzi resting on a nearby shelf and squeezing off a few rounds in his direction.

There wasn't much cover aside from the rusted husk of a Wolfsbane motorcycle, but he was left with little choice as the bikers began firing relentlessly, the bullets flying towards him like a herd of mosquitoes.

"No one kills a brother and lives!" another thug shouted.

"I'm gonna have fun dragging your maggot-filled carcass along the road when we're through with you boy!" shouted a pot-bellied redhead firing upon him with dual Berettas.

Seeing a shelving unit full of old engine parts nearby, Artie withdrew his Beretta and fired at the bolts supporting it, causing it to collapse onto one of the thugs and impale him with the various sharpened hunks of twisted metal.

There was no time to celebrate the brief victory as he popped out and caught one of the others with a round nicking the man's shoulder, before switching back to his shotgun and tearing through the crates the man hid behind before finally striking him with a fatal shell fragment through his lung.

"You're fuckin' dead you son of a bitch!" Henderson shouted having gotten his hands on a pump-action shotgun and returning fire, his shells decimating Artie's cover and forcing the hitman to dive behind some empty oil drums for cover before he was able to squeeze off another round of buckshot that wounded one of the Whiteskins.

"You spout a lot of shit Henderson! I can see why people want you dead!" Artie shouted back before firing another round which caught the redheaded fatass in his side and then another which obliterated the man's lower abdomen. He was alive, but not for much longer.

"Fuck you asshole!" called out another guy who had run out of ammo and resorted to tossing monkey wrenches at the hired gun from a nearby toolbox.

There was another shelf behind the man filled with heavy-looking objects that would no doubt kill the man in the same manner as his one brother and Artie popped up to fire a wild shot, failing to sever the links holding the shelf to the wall, but able to knock off a heavy engine block which squashed the wounded outlaw biker taking cover next to it.

"Oh shit, Toby get outta here!" the last man shouted before trying to bolt off in the opposite direction, only to eat a round of buckshot to the shoulder with fragments lodging into his neck.

"No you don't fucker!" Artie shouted as the baldheaded man fled towards a backdoor, only to find himself distracted by gunshots coming from behind.

The man he zapped with the stun gun outside had recovered and was firing away with an Uzi, his bullets flying wildly and forcing him back into cover behind a red toolbox.

"You won't stand in my way you limp dicked faggot!" Artie shouted back before pumping his shotgun and firing another burst before the gun clicked empty. With no time to reload he again withdrew the Beretta and blindly fired around the toolbox, managing to strike the remaining underling in his upper arm, forcing him to drop his firearm. Within two more rounds the thug was sagging to the ground with two fresh smoking holes in his chest.

The revving of an engine came from outside and the errand boy looked through a window to see Tobias Henderson mounted on a Diabolus.

"Sayonara dickhead!" the bald man laughed before producing a lighter and a Molotov cocktail and then tossing it through the window.

"Oh no you don't," Artie growled making his escape through the same backdoor as his target and began firing wildly at the fleeing man, who was forced to slow down as he made his way through a backyard filled with random junk and then attempting to maneuver his way through the parked motorcycles left behind by his deceased brothers.

Artie chased after the man and eventually reached the main road, Henderson beginning to pick up speed and seconds away from making his getaway.

The hitman checked his current clip to see he had _one_ bullet left.

One bullet left.

"_Goddamn it Artie, why the fuck do you always gotta find yourself with these kinds of odds stacked against you? You surely goddamn went and fucking pissed off somebody today," _his inner pessimist whined.

"Shut up," he whispered taking a deep breath, keeping his back straight and steadying his aim. There was no time to chicken out and no room for fuck ups. He had one bullet left and he needed to make it count.

Taking one final deep breath he squeezed the trigger and his bullet caught the fleeing biker in the shoulder before he could disappear over the hill, sending him falling to the ground, hard enough to damage his spinal column.

Tobias cried out in panic as he found himself unable to feel his legs, flailing his arms wildly as he looked back to see Artie running towards him.

"You motherfucking piece of shit! You fucking crippled me! I'm gonna have your fucking balls in a blender for this you cock sucking faggot!" the man screamed, "My brothers are gonna fucking murder you for this!"

"Not if you're not around to tell them who did it," Artie said before firing a blast into the man's face and ending his suffering.

"Mission complete," he said to himself walking along the main road leading into the trailer park, where a crowd of horrified residents gathered around the broken inbred hillbilly, who lay in a fetal position whimpering in pain.

"There he is!" a woman who had to weight roughly six hundred pounds called out, clad in a muumuu that on her looked like a tarp covered in faded flower designs. "You! Don' think I don' know what you did city boy! You're the bastard that beat up my baby Buford!" she shouted while attempting to run towards him, visibly winded following her first step and nearly collapsing to her knees.

"Get back here!" she huffed, "I ain't lettin' you get away wit' what chu done did to my baby!" the morbidly obese woman gasped, nearly stumbling over as she stepped on a pink roller that had fallen out of her already thinning black hair.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, you mean to tell me something _actually_ sleeps with you?" Artie replied, revolted to the point of nearly vomiting and then turned his attention over to Buford, "I thought bestiality was illegal in this state, guess I thought wrong."

"You!" the mountain of woman screamed before doubling over and sounding as if she were about to hack up a lung.

"Holy fucking sheep shit! I'm surprised anything would be able to sleep with you without you crushing them. I mean goddamn, you coming at me right now I'd swear you're that same boulder that rolled after Arizona Holmes in _'Shrine of Kismet!' _Goddamn!"

"God fucking damn! I'm surprised anything would be able to sleep with you without you crushing them. I mean goddamn, you coming at me right now I'd swear you're that same boulder that rolled after Arizona Holmes in _'Shrine of Kismet!'"_

"I'm a gonna kill ya' for that!" the woman hollered hoarsely as she again took another labored step towards him.

"Heh, I'd be more worried about you killing yourself right now. I bet you're not used to this much exercise unless it's you reaching for a meatball sub!" Artie laughed, _"Man, now I know I've definitely spent too much time around Donnie."_

"Lorene I think you oughta' give it a rest sweetie, remember your blood pressure," a much smaller woman with her blonde hair worn in a messy beehive hairdo called out walking over to the massive mountain of fat, which now had a name.

"Jesus fuck lady, I know your husband isn't a small guy, but goddamn I bet after sex he rolls over twice and he's still on top of you!" Artie laughed, causing the fat woman to let out another roar of frustration.

"You, I'm a gonna get chu' for this boy! Mark my words," Lorene called out as Artie turned on his heel and walked away, having had enough fun.

As soon as he made his way out of the trailer park Artie pulled out his cell phone and dialed Donnie's number. After the third ring his cousin picked up.

"_Hello?" _Donnie asked, sounding very out of breath.

"Donnie, I got those scumbags taken care of. I don't think they'll be coming back to bother your friends anytime soon," Artie reported.

"_That's good to hear…" _the elder Cappelli cousin trailed off like he was about to fall asleep.

Donnie Cappelli was sitting on one of the couches in his living room, exhausted after having carried out a full blown orgy with eight women, all of whom were passed out. Mischa, one of the Russian twins was passed out next to him while her sister Illyana had fallen asleep with her face buried in his crotch.

"_Are you sure you're alright?" _Artie asked.

"Cuz, I just had sex with eight different women. How could I not be alright?" Donnie chuckled.

"_Uh, thank you for sharing that…but seriously I just took out those three guys on your list. As soon as you're able to you can forward that ten thousand dollars to my account."_

"Sure thing Cuz, I'll do that…but I don't think it'll be happening tonight…sorry…" Donnie trailed as he noticed Mischa beginning to stir, meaning he might have to go another round with her.

"_Fine, but don't forget. You owe me for my troubles," _Artie replied.

"I've always paid you for everything you've done for me. I never forget!" Donnie snapped, causing Illyana to awaken as well. "Um, I'm gonna have to let you go now. I'll talk to you later."

"_Sure thing," _Artie said before hanging up.

Slipping the phone back into his pocket the errand boy made his way towards the cruiser pondering what he would do for the rest of the day.

"Don't know," he answered himself aloud, "Might just hang out at the bar and have a few drinks, maybe invite the guys up for a pizza…hmm, maybe I'll give Gladys a call. I haven't done anything with her in a while."

Before he could continue with his thoughts he was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone and looked down to his caller ID to see it was coming from an unknown caller.

"What gives?" he asked before switching the phone on to see who it was, "Hello?"

"_Artie Cappelli, how the hell are you doing today?" _a slimy voice called out from the other end, one that made the Italian-American's blood boil.

"Johnny Sneed you rat fucking bastard, how the fuck did you get this number?" Artie screamed into the phone.

The loan shark laughed harshly, _"Let's just say I have somebody here who wants to talk to you."_

A loud slap resounded in the background before a familiar, panicked voice called out, _"Artie! Artie it's me!"_

Hearing the voice caused his heart to nearly stop.

"Gino, what the hell gives? Are you alright? What has that bastard done to you?" Artie demanded.

"_C-C-C-Cu-Cuz…j-just please get over here r-r-right away! Johnny really needs to talk to you about something!" _Gino blurted out before another slap was heard followed by his screams of pain.

"_You'd better listen to what your cousin just had to say and get your worthless piece of shit ass over here!" _Johnny shouted from the other end, _"And you'd better make it quick or else your cousin doesn't have much time left!"_

"You leave my cousin out of this you fucking bastard! I swear to God if you so much as breathe on him I'm gonna come over there and put a fucking bullet in your worthless fucking skull!" Artie screamed into his phone, threatening to crush it with his iron grip.

"_Hey, hey, hey! You just remember you're not the one in the position to be making threats wise guy. Enough talk, get your ass over to the Shyster Savings and Loans Bank in Horgate and we'll discuss this matter further," _and with those words the line went dead.

"That motherfucking piece of shit," Artie screamed before picking up a trashcan and tossing it through the windshield of a Rancher parked nearby, "How dare he put his hands on my family…" he blurted out, catching his breath and trying to calm himself.

"I've gotta get Gino back," he whispered making his way over to the police cruiser, throwing on his seatbelt and speeding towards the Horgate district.

"_I swear to fucking God one of these days I'm going to kill Johnny Sneed."_

XXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends yet another mission for our long suffering antihero. Will he be able to save his cousin, or has Gino Cappelli rolled the dice for the final time? Tune in for the next installment, which sadly won't be as sexually charged and full of naked women as this chapter.

Onto the random notes, like what Afro Spirit did in his discontinued "Laugh Now, Cry Later" story, I wanted to include a comedy bit and I wanted to incorporate Gabriel Iglesias because I fucking love that guy. His bit about being pulled over is inspired by a clip from his "I'm Not Fat…I'm Fluffy" DVD, of course some of the dialogue had to be modified to fit in with the GTA universe.

The part where Artie is talking to Dr. Casey is inspired by a scene from "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry" where Chuck is in the middle of hosting a huge orgy at his apartment and then Larry shows up and recognizes one of the ladies there as the same doctor who treats him and Chuck after they almost die in a crumbling building, questioning him about his current condition while she's wearing some skimpy lingerie.

The name of the Mexican restaurant Casa de Chavez y Chavez is a reference to the friendly Mexican bandit Jose Chavez y Chavez from the Rockstar video game "Gun."

Mama Pearl's Diner is inspired by Mama Pearl, the leader of the Boomers from "Fallout: New Vegas" and the bomber airplane on display behind the diner is inspired by the sunken Boeing B-29 Superfortress which you have to help them recover in the "Volare!" side quest.

"Delivery" is a spoof of "Deliverance," Don Beere spoofs John Deere tractors and Arizona Holmes is a spoof of Indiana Jones and "Shrine of Kismet" spoofs "Temple of Doom."

Well I think that's all for my end of chapter notes so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	33. Shakedown

Author's Note: There is an author's note which I was going to say in the beginning of the last chapter, but unfortunately I forgot to do so, so here it is now in response to a review of a previous chapter:

**Zane Longsharks: **Thanks for your kind words. As always it is a pleasure to hear from new faces, nothing wrong with the my already constant reviewers, but always looking to expand, and yes I always have a fun time working with Donnie Cappelli, he's supposed to be like a more violent version of Glenn Quagmire from "Family Guy." To answer your little inquiry, the Banditelli Mafia is supposed to be the most powerful gang in all of Rushmore City, so powerful they were able to take down 4 other mob families and thus I try to portray them as having eyes and ears everywhere to the point someone farts they'd hear it and if they didn't like the smell, they'd be out to get that person right away, which is what Johnny Sneed is. He's supposed to be their eyes and ears on Lincoln Island, so if something happened to him they would know right away. Artie does have allies in the Aces and the Luciferian Brotherhood, yet they themselves are also on the ropes with their own struggles and wouldn't be able to devote the manpower necessary to help their friend out. I don't know if that answers much, but hopefully it does give you at least some insight into the dealings of Rushmore City.

Chapter 33: Shakedown

Artie pulled to a screeching halt outside of the Shyster Savings and Loans Bank, knocking over a hotdog cart in the process.

"Hey what are you doing? That is my damned hotdog stand you brute!" the vendor cried out, only to be silenced by an animalistic roar from a very enraged Artie that sent him fleeing down the street.

Bolting up the stairs he pushed his way through the front doors despite the protests of a nearby security guard and made his way over to the first person he saw, a slim brunette wearing a mauve-colored pant suit who was currently in the middle of dealing with an elderly man. Slamming his hands down onto the desktop he screamed in her face like a man possessed.

"Where's Johnny Sneed?" he demanded, "Tell me where the fuck he is!"

"Sir, you're going to need to calm down," the guard said cautiously approaching him from behind, only to eat a backhand that broke his nose.

"Oh, you must be Mr. Cappelli," the woman squeaked, "He said something about you having an appointment. He's down the hall and your last door on the left."

Ignoring the stares of the employees and customers present, Artie bolted down the hallway and reached the door he was directed to, nearly knocking it from its hinges as he threw it open.

Gino Cappelli was in the center of the room tied down to a swivel chair with his mouth gagged, his face covered in fresh cuts and bruises with both his blackened eyes almost swollen shut.

Johnny Sneed stood tall over him with the sleeves of his pink dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a pair of gold-plated brass knuckles on his right hand, delivering another punch to the bloodied man's face that left him giving a muffled scream of pain.

"You bastard, don't you fucking touch him!" Artie screamed making a beeline for Johnny, only to be halted by the loan shark's bodyguards stepping in front of him with their guns drawn.

"Maybe if your cousin were able to pay up on time, then there would be no need to touch him," Johnny said to him before returning his attention to Gino, "Isn't that right?" he asked before backhanding him hard.

Artie stood in place breathing heavily, restraining himself from lashing out at the weasel before him knowing what would happen next if he moved. It pained him to stand there and watch his cousin take that brutal abuse, feeling the veins wanting to pop through his skin knowing he couldn't do anything about it, except clench his fists and grit his teeth until his jaw hurt.

"Why do you have to do this to him? He might be a slacker and a piss poor liar, but he hasn't hurt you in any shape or form, now let him go!" he demanded, hearing Gino's muffled grunt of offense at the 'liar' comment.

"Heh, just because your cousin's shithole dive might be starting to make money for once doesn't mean he's off the hook with me just yet. Your cousin owes me much more than you think, yet another lie of his," Johnny said tugging hard on the bound man's ear as he finished his sentence.

Artie didn't know what to say and stared hard at his cousin, bloody tears streaming down his face.

"Getting down to business," Johnny said adopting a more business-like tone, "I know you don't like me and to be frank, I sure as hell don't like you either. To tell the truth, if I had my way both of you would be dead right now," he said looking back to Gino.

"Then what's fucking keeping you, huh?" Artie asked motioning with his arms, "How come you haven't killed us already?"

Johnny stopped pacing and scowled viciously at him, "My employers want the money back that your cousin borrowed and they still haven't gotten it back yet. You see, I'm really just the middleman who makes sure they get what they want," his tone turning to one of disgust, "and apparently you can't collect tax from a dead man," he said again looking to Gino, a low rumbling in his stomach.

"And why have you summoned me here?" Artie demanded, furrowing his brow towards the loan shark.

Johnny chuckled and took a seat on the edge of his desk, "Your cousin tells me you're quite the 'busy little bee' and that you've already done quite a few successful jobs for him and your friends. From what I've heard you're quite efficient with your work and cutting to the chase, I want you to work for me," he said pointing a thumb to himself.

Artie laughed harshly at the comment, "You want me to work for you? Keep dreaming pal! What the hell makes you think I would ever work for you after all the shit you've pulled on my family? You should be lucky I haven't killed you yet!"

Now it was Johnny's turn to laugh.

"You sure talk big for a punk with nothing to back you up. Seriously, I get the impression you think your 'Johnson' is too big to keep in your pants, typical grease ball gusto!" he spoke, earning a few annoyed stares from his bodyguards, whom Artie assumed must have also been of Italian descent.

"And what if I say no? What if I decide that I'm above working for your kind?" Artie asked, clenching his fists at his sides.

Johnny reached behind him and pulled out a nickel plated Colt Anaconda, placing it to Gino's temple.

"Then your cousin dies," he snickered.

Beneath the cloth gagging him Artie could make out his cousin screaming "Do it! Do it!" as he squirmed wildly.

Artie steeled himself as the words hit him like a freight train, knowing he was faced with a difficult decision: either work for somebody he absolutely hated or his cousin would be murdered in cold blood. He was truly backed into a corner now and knew he wouldn't like the outcome either way.

"Fine, I'll do it…" he grunted, hating himself for having to utter those words, "…but only under one condition, you have to leave my cousin alone. I swear to God, if you touch him in any shape or form, the deal is off!"

"Alright, you've got yourself a deal," Johnny said placing the revolver back onto his desk, "Do as I say and no harm will come to your cousin."

"What do you want me to do?" Artie inquired, unable to believe he was asking him such a question.

"Ready to get down to business right away, I like that in an underling," Johnny snickered, really wanting to rub it in before giving his marching orders, "Your cousin here hasn't been the only business owner who's been copping out on me in regards to repaying his loans," the loan shark said producing a list from his pocket, "Quite a few have been refusing to pay me back and I cannot have that happen. They need to repay their loans and I don't care what you have to do to get the money back, whether you have to break something, fuck their wife right in front of them, kill one of their employees, anything that will make them cough up my money!"

Artie barely stifled a grunt of disgust, hating the thought of having to push people around knowing it would make him no better than that rat bastard Johnny.

"I thought you said the money belonged to your employers and that you were just the middleman," the Italian-American replied, unable to hide his irritation.

Johnny narrowed his dark eyes at him, "Well I'm entitled to a percentage, being that I am their employee and everything…but enough of that," he said handing the list to Artie, "I am a fair man and I will personally see to it you are given a percentage for a job well done, even if you aren't worthy of it. Now, just get your ass out there and get the money back any way you can. If you do this for me, then I promise I will be out of your life and your cousin's forever. Now, get to it!" he said clapping his hands.

"Understood," Artie replied with a nod. Deep down he doubted the man would live up to his promise, but would do whatever he could to protect his cousin. "What about him?" he asked pointing towards Gino.

"Oh, that asshole, well I'll see to it that he gets over to a doctor as soon as possible, think of it as my form of 'compensation' for the day," Johnny replied with a smirk.

"You better," Artie said exiting the office and making his way outside.

_"Goddamn it Artie, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?" _he asked himself stepping through the double doors, feeling as if he had been forced to sell his soul to the Devil.

He noticed the patrol car he arrived in was nowhere to be found, but that there was a nice black Schafter left in its place. Running over to it he found a pair of keys left inside along with a note from Johnny:

_"There's a toy waiting for you in the trunk if things get too hairy."_

_ "That rat bastard actually looks out for his employees? That's a first," _Artie thought switching on the car and flipping the station over to 94.3 CSKD, currently playing "Knee Deep" by Job for a Cowboy, perfect music for him to vent his frustration to.

His first stop would be the Screw-It Center, which fortunately wasn't too far away from the bank and he was there within minutes pulling up outside the one story red building.

Artie switched the car off and exhaled deeply, hating himself for what he was about to do.

Stepping out he walked inside and was greeted by a chubby older man in a blue boiler suit whose balding head was covered by a matching cap advertising the company logo. A patch on his shirt identified him as _'Otis.'_

"What can I do for you son?" the man asked with a friendly grin, giving off a fatherly aura that instantly made Artie feel uncomfortable.

"Look, Johnny sent me," he replied, showing his reluctance, "Now I don't want trouble any more than you do so just hand over the money and I'll be on my way."

The older man's genteel demeanor quickly faded and he reached beneath the counter, pulling out a thick white envelope and shoving it across to him, "Just take it and get the hell out."

"Fine, I'm gone," Artie replied accepting the envelope and turning on his heel.

As he left the shop Otis took notice of his behavior, _"Hmmm, he ain't like those other wise guys who come marching around here. Must be a new guy, he'll probably turn into a punk sooner or later."_

Artie climbed back into the Schafter and saw the next target on his list was the Mack's Knickknack Shack antique store over in the adjoining Stoker district, again another short drive.

_"Sooner I can be done with this the better," _he told himself, still feeling sick at the thought of being Johnny Sneed's errand boy.

Within moments he arrived in Stoker, another district dominated by small mom and pop businesses, shoppers out in full force for whatever deals they could get. The presence of so many people forced him to slow down as he carefully searched for the antique store.

"Alright, where the fuck are you?" he quietly asked aloud waiting patiently for a Contender pickup truck to pull into traffic, "Where the fuck are-"

Artie's thoughts were interrupted when he looked over to his left to see a Yardie Lobo in the lane next to him, the driver slapping his hand against the door to the beat of Sly and Robbie's "Penny Lover as they waited behind several other vehicles at a stoplight.

He could feel his stomach almost leap through his skin and quickly turned his head to the other side hoping they wouldn't recognize him. Playing like he dropped something on the floor, he lowered his head and then carefully looked over his shoulder to see if they were reaching for a gun.

He watched as the driver reached for something from his passenger and scrambled for his Beretta, placing it in his lap to avoid drawing the Caribbean gangsters' attention or frightening any pedestrians. His heart pounded in his chest and his trigger finger itched as he fought the urge to raise his gun, but when he saw the plume of smoke he sudden relaxed, the Yardie driver and his passenger casually passing a joint back and forth. The light soon turned green and they went on their way.

"Fuck that was close," he muttered to himself as he waited for the Contender ahead of him to move, which was held up by a Flatbed transporting heavy machinery in the process of making a wide turn.

With his obstruction out of the way Artie continued along the street until he found Mack's Knickknack Shack nestled between the Musashi Karate Dojo and Duckbutter's Custom Furniture. He waited for a Regina station wagon to pull out and then made his way into the parking spot, nearly scraping another sedan parked behind him.

_"Heh, why should I care if I scratch this car? It's probably Johnny's personal ride for all I know," _he thought climbing out and approaching the store.

Mack's Knickknack Shack looked like the kind of shop that would have been a burglar's dream come true.

There appeared to be items from all over the world present in a tiny shop located in the middle of an industrial shithole. Cases along the walls displayed pottery and jewelry that had to be more than a century old, along with statues, paintings, books, clocks and furniture that had to be even older. Also present in the cases were plenty of Medieval-looking weapons, far eastern swords and armor mixing with western pistols and rifles.

Standing behind the counter was an elderly man in a plaid sweater vest ringing up an order for a red-haired man purchasing a war lance adorned with eagle feathers.

"Oh man, I'm so going to score with that chick from my Native American history class," the young man squealed in delight as he exited the store.

The elderly shopkeeper took a hit from an inhaler just as Artie approached, "Can I help you today sonny?" he croaked.

"Johnny sent me, says you need to pay up," Artie said trying to remain business-like, "Now just do as you're told and we can have this over with."

"Go to Hell!" the frail-looking man roared, "That Johnny Sneed is nothing but a two-bit punk with no appreciation for those around him, or for fine art!" he said motioning towards the curios in his shop.

"Look, just give me the money and we won't be having any trouble," Artie said trying to reason with the man, "To be quite honest, I don't care much for the prick either, but he's holding my cousin hostage and if I don't do what he says he's going to be a dead man."

"Fuck your cousin! I have an entire family to support ya' know!" the man protested, showing much more determination than expected.

Grunting in frustration, Artie looked around and took notice of the valuables present, all of which were very expensive-looking. With no other options he withdrew the nightstick he acquired from Lisa's cruiser.

"Fine, then we're going to do things the hard way," the errand boy spoke taking a swing and smashing a nearby Ming vase to pieces.

"What are you doing?" the clerk screamed, "That was a priceless treasure from China!"

"And now it's dust," Artie replied as he kicked over a grandfather clock and then snatched a candelabra from another shelf and tossed it through an Impressionist painting positioned on an easel near the front door, ripping through its material.

"Hey, hey stop that at once!" the proprietor demanded, trying to walk out from behind his counter, only to wheeze after taking a few steps and again pulling out his inhaler, "Please…stop it…" he gasped.

Artie wasn't through, smashing open a bottle containing a model pirate ship before knocking over a suit of armor and then kicking over an armoire filled with several tea sets.

"Please stop!" the owner begged, tears filling his eyes, "Please just stop it!" he whined as the errand boy took an upward swing with his nightstick that sent a silver tea set flying into the air and clattering to the floor with an ear-splitting drone. "Okay, okay I'll pay up! I'll pay up!" the man screamed before reaching for his inhaler.

"That's all I needed to hear," Artie replied approaching the counter and slapping his hands down onto its wooden surface, accepting a thick envelope from the quivering man.

"Please, just take it and leave!" the elderly man pleaded raising his hands above his head to guard himself from any possible blows.

"A pleasure doing business with you sir," Artie smirked before disappearing through the front door.

_"Johnny would be so proud of you," _a voice in his head spoke, forcing him to wince.

With two businesses down he wanted to focus on getting to the next location, Blojobski Laundromat over in the Red Light District.

This drive would be a little longer so he stopped by a vendor to grab a hotdog and then went over to a Secsi machine and grabbed himself a soda, enjoying his brief meal before moving on.

For the most part it was an uneventful drive from Stoker to the Red Light District, aside from when he was driving down Bonaparte Blvd., where there was a full scale gun battle going down between members of the Uptown Yardies and the Hellcats, a bullet-riddled red and white Rancher nearby surrounded by the shot up carcasses of four Redcoats.

Artie could only smile in ghoulish glee at the sight.

_"As long as they never find out the truth," _he thought watching the last Yardie fall after taking a barrage of high-powered rounds from a Hellcat's M4, the first thing that had made him smile in a few hours.

It was now in the early evening hours and the hookers were starting to come out in full force as the sun set, like creatures of the night, as did their pimps and the ever present john looking to blow their day's wages.

"Gonna have to make this quick," he muttered passing a junkie waving around a Styrofoam cup looking for his next high, looking like he was ready to pick up a nearby brick to bash a passerby's head in and steal his money.

Blojobski Laundromat was situated between the Mani-Cure nail salon and the Eros' Erotic Emporium sex shop, where a pimp dressed in a bright turquoise outfit that violated fashion laws on so many different levels was in the middle of smacking around one of his 'employees' with his ring-clad hand. The chivalrous part of Artie wanted to step in and put the bastard out of his misery, but at the same time he couldn't risk compromising his mission and went inside.

There were still a few customers present, either loading their laundry into the washers or sitting around waiting for their clothes to dry. A middle-aged woman stood at the front counter with her nose buried in a 'Persons' magazine, looking up as Artie approached.

"Hello and welcome to Blojobski Laundromat, do you have any clothes needing to be picked up?" the woman asked in a thick Polish accent.

"No, but I have protection money that needs to be picked up," Artie replied.

The second he spoke a dark-haired man emerged from the office and got in his face, "We are no longer paying you or the bastard who employs you!" he roared with the vigor of a lion, startling the seated customers and causing a young woman to drop a loaded basket onto the sandal-clad foot of a young man who was using his Whiz Ballsak to browse Spacebook.

"Hey man, I'm just here to do a job-" the errand boy continued until he was again cut off.

"We will not pay!" the man hollered, "We did not come to this great country to be bullied by a bunch of piss ant hoodlums like you!"

Without warning the man grabbed a laundry basket as he spoke his last words and tossed it in his face before bolting out the back door.

"Motherfucker," Artie spat shrugging off the blow and making his way out the front door towards the waiting Schafter, knocking over a construction worker and performing a baseball slide across the sedan's hood before pulling himself inside.

The screech of tires reported from the back alley and he watched as a dark red Burrito advertising the aforementioned laundromat sped out from the darkness, nearly running over the pimp who had been abusing his employee.

"Muthafucka' watch it!" the pimp screamed.

Shifting the car into reverse, Artie pulled the sedan backward onto the sidewalk and smacked into the pimp's side, sending him tumbling against the building's front window, but not killing him.

"Take that you woman beating prick," he grunted shifting the car back into drive and taking off after the fleeing van.

The van had already reached the end of the street and brushed against a streetlight, sending it clattering to the concrete like a falling tree, following up by ripping off the driver's side door of a parked '92 Fortune the owner had been getting out of when the speeding Burrito zipped past, ignoring the screams of its angry owner.

Artie hammered the gas pedal down to the Schafter's floor, bobbing and weaving around oncoming traffic at a manic pace as he pursued the van.

"It's on motherfucker," he whispered gaining ground on the van and ramming hard into its rear bumper, causing it to jerk back and forth. Not finished yet, he slammed into the backside and kept up until its rear doors came flying open and several laundry baskets spilled out onto his windshield.

"Shit!" Artie blurted aloud, forced to slow down and switch on his windshield wipers, desperate to keep the car straight as his vision was obscured, soon speeding up in an effort to shake the discarded clothes off, a pink thong hanging from the wiper. He continued forth until the entire car was rocked and his windshield was shattered.

"What the fuck?" he asked hearing a loud racket above him and looking into the rearview mirror to see the warped remnants of a motorcycle clattering to the ground behind him, followed by some pissed off bikers emerging from the nearby bar with their guns drawn.

"Damn it," the errand boy grunted trying to floor it out of there, hearing the bullets pelting against the rear end and shattering his rear window and taillights while trying to focus on the fleeing van before him, swerving to the left to dodge another falling basket and ramming it again until one of its rear doors went flying off.

"C'mon damn it, you've gotta give it up sometime," Artie said ramming the Burrito hard again and forcing it to collide with an oncoming Borgnine Taxi, causing the van to whip back and forth again before the driver somehow regained control. He was tempted to pull out his gun and shoot at the van, but didn't want to risk killing the driver, knowing he would be needed alive to collect the money.

The van took another abrupt turn and from the opposite lane the hired gun spotted an oncoming Patriot with an American flag paint scheme, creating another opportunity for Artie to end the pursuit.

"Hell yeah," Artie exclaimed at his good fortune and rammed the fleeing Burrito hard again, sending it flying head on into the bulky S.U.V., which in turn sent it whipping wildly into a nearby winery.

"Hey man, do you have any idea how much this paint job cost?" the driver of the Patriot called out, a scrawny young man with spiked hair and wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and large shades obscuring his eyes. There were several more young adults in the vehicle, all staring in horror at what had just occurred.

"Get the fuck outta here!" Artie screamed drawing his Beretta and firing a shot that destroyed the vehicle's rearview mirror.

With a falsetto shriek the driver slammed the Patriot's gas pedal and got the hell out of dodge, allowing the hired gun to return his attention to the laundry van and he made his way over, finding the driver bloodied and shaken, but still very much alive.

"Alright pal, as I stated earlier I believe you owe Johnny Sneed some money," he said shoving the gun's barrel through the shattered passenger side window, "Now are you going to further test my patience and make me do something I'm going to regret, or are you going to be nice and do as you're told?"

"Okay, okay fine you can have the money! Just please let me go!" the frightened launderer screamed, grabbing a briefcase out from between the seats and shoving it into Artie's hands.

"Do as I say and next time you won't be having these problems," he replied, wanting to instill the fear of God into the man.

_"Just hoping there doesn't have to be a next time," _he thought reaching for the list, finding the next location to be Rusty's Trombone over in Bellport.

Just as he was exiting the wrecked winery his phone began ringing and looked at the caller ID to see it was Johnny.

"God fucking damn you Johnny," Artie growled in disgust while switching on the phone, "Hello?"

_"You getting my money back?" _the loan shark demanded.

Exhaling in disgust the errand boy replied, "Yes, I'm getting your fucking money back and I was in the middle of doing my job when you called!"

_"You'd better be you little shit stain. Your cousin's over at Lincoln General, poor guy really needs to stop being so 'clumsy' if you ask me," _Johnny snickered from the other end, _"He's yours to pick up once you're through, but I warn you, I've got guys watching the place. If you try copping out on me, they'll be more than happy to ventilate both your sorry asses!"_

"Fine, fine I'll get the rest of the businesses on your list," Artie half-shouted, wishing he could reach through his cell phone and strangle the turd on the other end.

_"That's the spirit," _Johnny chuckled merrily, _"Keep up the good work until then!"_

Artie hung up the phone and had to resist the urge to smash it to pieces, the sound of that slimy bastard's voice reigniting his rage. At the same time, he felt concern for his cousin Gino and had to wonder if he really was being treated well at the hospital, or if he was really locked away in some basement, tied to a chair and having his balls squashed with a sledgehammer.

He climbed back into the beaten up Schafter and was about to proceed for his next destination when a news broadcast suddenly came over 94.3 CSKD:

_"Hello harlots and blasphemers, once again this is your host the Metal Harbinger and I'm very sorry to interrupt your badass tunes like this, but the dickhead above me is forcing me to bring you this bit of news, yeah it fucking pisses me off to do this too._

_ "Anyways, I'm being told to tell all of you to watch yourselves if you are listening to me on Lincoln Island as a full scale fucking gang war has erupted between the Redcoats, the Hellcats and the Uptown Yardies. Those guys were all once tighter than a nun's pussy, but now they're fucking killing each other and there's fucking blood all over the place._

_ "Why the fuck should I be warning you guys about this? This is the fucking apocalypse baby! This is fucking Satan rising up from the depths of Hell! We oughta' be out there joining in on the fun! Fuck, if I wasn't on the clock I'd be out there with that new L85 I got the other day from Ammu-Nation!_

_ "Oh well, for now I'm gonna have to settle with providing the soundtrack for battle and thus I give you 'Violence' by Dope here on 94.3 CSKD!"_

Artie found himself forced to pull over as an ambulance sped past him with its lights and siren going, no doubt heading for one of those battles, its crew likely soon to be slaughtered.

"Their funeral," he whispered while passing the Three Leaf Clover and soon making his way towards Rusty's Trombone, a small ivory-colored building with a rusted trumpet comprising most of its sign hanging over the door and several brass instruments seen in its front display window, the polar opposite of the kind Iceman sold in his shop.

Artie pulled to a halt in front of the store and took a deep breath, ready to commit his next heinous act in the name of a bloodsucking leech whose name alone sent shockwaves of anger throughout his body, one he so desperately wanted to rip off and stomp the shit out of.

The hired gun made his way inside, the ringing of the bell overhead announcing his entrance, barely heard over the bellow of someone who couldn't play a French horn if their life depended upon it, their disjointed toots sounding like really bad farts.

The entire room was lined with shelves displaying brass instruments of all different shapes and sizes, as well as various types of woodwind, string and percussion instruments. There was a practice room at the back of the small building from which Artie listened to the French horn session gone terribly wrong and at the front counter was a pudgy man with a ring of dark brown hair around his melon-shaped head, oversized glasses and a poufy dark mustache that almost made him look like a horribly drawn cartoon character.

Wasting no time Artie made his way over to the man and slapped his hands down on the counter, at his wit's end following his recent brush with the laundromat proprietor.

"Alright, getting straight to the chase, I'm here on behalf of Johnny Sneed and I believe you're behind on your most recent payment. Cough it up or else I'm not going to be very nice!"

"Wh-What? What are you talking about?" the man squeaked, "I just paid up the other day! Hell, I offered Mr. Sneed free saxophone lessons as an added bonus!" the man protested, letting out a fart in the process, "Oops…sorry."

"Well according to him you haven't," Artie replied before sniffing at the air and cupping a hand over his nose, "Ah! Jesus Fucking Christ, what the fuck crawled up your fat ass and died?"

"Sorry sir, I have irritable bowels," the clerk replied, his cheeks turning bright red.

"As if I didn't fucking know that already!" Artie snapped using his free hand in a futile attempt to wave the rancid stench away from him, "Now please, just give me the fucking money so I can get the fuck outta here already!" the hitman shouted, feeling his stomach want to perform a triple somersault, "Smells like you slaughtered a fucking cow, ugh!"

"B-Bu-Bu-But please you've gotta believe me! I already sent out my payment to Mr. Sneed! Ask my assistant and he'll vouch for me! I swear on my mother's life I'm telling you the truth!" the man cried.

"And I swear I'm going to rip that turd off your face if you don't pay up!" Artie shouted nearly bumping into a tuba display, "What the hell is that thing supposed to be?" he asked staring at the man's mustache.

"Hey, don't you fucking talk to my uncle like that!" a young man with sandy blond hair shouted, emerging from the office with a baseball bat in hand and making a beeline for Artie.

The hired gun barely ducked beneath the man's swing, which sent the now dented tuba clattering to the floor. Withdrawing his nightstick, Artie struck the man hard in his side and followed up with two more blows before he finally relinquished his grip on the bat and then punched the young man hard in his face before grabbing him by the back of his shirt and sending him flying into a display of clarinets.

"Hey, don't touch my nephew you son of a bitch!" the shopkeeper shouted, reaching for a .38 revolver he had kept hidden beneath the counter. Unfortunately for the small man, he had never fired gun in his entire life and the recoil of such a diminutive pistol sent the man flying backward after he squeezed the trigger, a sight comical to the battle hardened hired gun.

"Man you suck," Artie taunted, walking behind the counter and kicking the gun away from the man's outstretched hand before placing his boot to the man's wrist. "What's it gonna be short stack? You gonna cough up the money or do I have to slap you around like a bitch too? As small as you are I'd probably break you in half."

"Alright, you win! You win mister! Please just don't hurt me!" the clerk whined and reached for a manila envelope hidden beneath the counter as Artie released his grip. "Please, just take it and go!"

"See, if you would be a good little scamp we wouldn't have to resort to this now, would we?" Artie spoke in a patronizing tone before making his way past the man's still unconscious nephew and back to the beaten up Schafter.

"God fucking damn these people," Artie grunted climbing into the sedan and reaching for his list, finding the next location to be Broker Bob's Authentic Broker Style Deli over in Komojack Downs. Switching the car back on he decided to switch radio stations, seeking something that wasn't as aggressive as the heavy metal that had kept his mean streak going, yet something that was fast enough to keep his energy up, eventually settling on Rewind FM, currently playing "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode.

The streets were still fairly packed and it left the hitman proceeding at a rate much slower than he intended, especially as he again passed through the northernmost edge of Camden Heights, where the police had cordoned off an area. A blood spattered Clover had rammed into a tan-colored Dukes positioned at an awkward angle and nearby a red-clad thug was being dragged kicking and screaming to a squad car and not much farther away was a Hispanic thug in a Hellcat's jacket down on his knees with his wrists bound behind him. Several paramedics were present as well, two of whom closing up a body bag and preparing to lift it onto a stretcher. A Police Maverick circled overhead, now employing its searchlight in the early evening hours.

Once he had passed the obstruction he continued on towards Komojack Downs without further interruption until he had reached the district limits and was brought to a halt by two N.O.O.S.E. Enforcers surrounded by wooden sawhorses. The rattle of automatic fire called out in the distance as he tried peering around the large vehicles, yet couldn't see anything.

A heavily-armored trooper eventually approached the sedan, "Sir, I'm afraid this street is currently off limits. There is a gang battle currently taking place and we need to keep all civilians at a safe distance. We have a detour set up on nearby O'Dell Lane if you need to get anywhere."

"Um…okay thanks," Artie sighed, knowing there was no way around the heavily-armed soldiers, especially with as dangerously low on ammo he was following his earlier battles. _"Shit, what the fuck am I going to do now?" _he asked looking over to see several concerned citizens gazing out through their windows, until his eyes found their way to the alley located at his left and then an idea popped into his head. Making a U-turn on an empty street, he drove along until finding a parking lot and pulling into a stall, locking the doors behind him.

_"Gonna have to get a little creative for once," _he told himself making his way into the nearby alley, creeping along as he heard the plethora of screeching tires, automatic fire, police sirens, the flutter of helicopter blades, dying screams and even what he swore had to be a rocket exploding.

He watched from a distance as more Yardies and Hellcats fought amongst themselves, a few N.O.O.S.E. operatives getting involved and gunning down a few of the warring gang members before managing to wrestle a lone Hellcat to the pavement and handcuffing him.

_"That's right, just keep on murdering each other you fucking losers," _Artie thought continuing down the alley until he spotted a lanky man in a blood covered apron smoking a cigarette.

"Fuck what the boss says. I'm not going to let some gunfight stop me from enjoying my menthol goodness," the man cooed before inhaling the smoke into his lungs and then blowing a cloud into the sky.

"You do realize that is bad for your health, don't you?" Artie asked cocking his gun and placing it against the man's temple, causing the cigarette to drop from his mouth as it opened in terror.

"I'm guessing you must work for Broker Bob, am I correct?" the errand boy demanded, forcing the barrel deeper into the young man, who could only nod nervously.

"Ye-Ye-Yes he's inside!" the man finally squeaked before finding himself grabbed by the collar and thrown against the building.

"Very well, your boss and I need to have a little talk. Take me to him!" Artie demanded, letting the man go and following him into the back of the butcher shop.

He was led into the back storage room of Broker Bob's Authentic Broker Style Deli, where several employees had congregated, including a squat man with broad arms and a head of thinning curly hair.

"Connor what the hell are you doing bringing guests in here? Can't you see there's a war going on outside? We can't afford to trust anybody right now," the short man demanded before Artie shoved the lanky man aside and withdrew his gun, everybody raising their hands in horror at the motion.

"Are you Broker Bob?" he shouted at the short man, training his gun on the man's groin area.

"Y-Yeah…I'm B-B-Bro-Broker! What the hell do you want?" the man whimpered.

"You owe Johnny Sneed money, that's what brings me here on this 'oh so pleasant day,'" Artie smirked as he listened to the dying screams of more gang members coming from outside.

"Hey man, I can't just pay up right now! All these goddamned gang wars have been eating away at my profits!" the butcher protested.

Artie carefully eyed up each of the deli employees, shifting his sights back and forth between all of them until he happened across a bald, chubby Chinese man in a sweat-stained striped tank top and fired a round into his kneecap.

"Apparently I haven't made myself clear enough; you owe Johnny Sneed protection money!" Artie repeated, ignoring the employee's screams of anguish as he writhed about on the tiled floor.

"Okay, okay I'll get your money, just please stop shooting everybody!" Broker Bob screamed before turning his attention to an African-American woman with her dark hair worn in cornrows, "Get the money for him now! Do it!"

Without hesitation the woman disappeared into a nearby office and came back with a bulky manila envelope in hand, shoving it into Artie's chest.

"Alright, that's all I needed. Go on with your business," he said nonchalantly as the other employees now attempted to help their wounded colleague.

"Two more to go," Artie whispered to himself as he ran down the alley, eventually happening across an alcove where two exhausted Yardies were hiding out.

"Get cha' ass outta here Yankee boy! Dis be our hidin' spot 'ere!" one of the Caribbean men snapped.

Artie could hear the heavy footsteps and radio chatter of nearby police officers and smiled.

"Officers, there are two Yardies hiding back here!" he shouted, adopting the tone of a frantic streetwalker and wildly waving towards the two men before continuing his run down the alley, smiling ghoulishly at what likely awaited the two men.

"You never take us alive piggy!" one of the gangsters called out and then there was a hail of gunfire.

"Suck on that you druggy bitches," Artie quipped making his way back to Johnny's Schafter and climbing inside. The next store on the list was Jerry Juana's Green Galore in Little Jamaica.

_"Probably a smoke shop or something," _Artie thought to himself as he switched the radio station over to Radio GX, which was currently playing "Until the Day I Die" by Story of the Year, and made his way out of the war torn district, only to find himself headed for another.

Upon entering the Little Jamaica district, he was cut off by a fleeing Hellcat Dukes being followed by two Yardies on Bati 800 street bikes pelting away at it from both sides with MP5 submachine guns before flames erupted beneath its hood and the muscle car spun out of control. Not too far away there were two more Hellcats engaged in a shootout with Yardies that had taken cover behind one of their customized Huntley Sports, the Jamaican thugs eventually winning the skirmish against their tan-clad adversaries and they climbed into the SUV seeking out new targets.

It wasn't long before he found Jerry Juana's Green Galore and parked out front.

A young woman stood near the store's entrance handing out fliers, her nappy brown hair worn in dreadlocks and dressed in stereotypical hippie clothing. Upon drawing nearer, it was evident she didn't believe in shaving either.

"Like hey man, we're having a bake sale to benefit the starving children of Ethiopia. It's free admission if you bring something!" she called out trying to shove a flier into his hand.

Artie took a sniff and nearly gagged, his nostrils assaulted by a combination of marijuana and body odor, the latter telling him she must not have believed in indoor plumbing either. "Jeez lady, go home and take a fucking shower!" he spat making his way inside.

The place turned out to be a combination of a clothing store, craft store and smoke shop which sold mostly tie-dyed clothing, bellbottom pants, sandals and plenty of hemp-related goods. Indian sitar music piped in through a small radio and the room reeked of marijuana smoke.

_"Guess I shouldn't have expected any different," _Artie told himself approaching the front counter where two lanky young white guys stood, one with his blond hair worn in dreadlocks and wearing a green t-shirt, purple-tinted shades and a red, black and green knit cap, while the other had long straight red hair and a matching goatee, wearing a long-sleeved green shirt and tan cargo pants.

"Are you two slackers the ones in charge here?" Artie demanded slapping his hands down onto the counter's surface, causing both of them to jump.

Both men mumbled incoherently before the dreadlocked guy finally managed to speak in a language he could understand.

"Dude, why you gotta yell? We're on the clock man," he spoke in a faraway tone and when the errand boy saw his bloodshot eyes he could tell right away he was higher than a kite.

"Cut the crap, I'm here because you owe Johnny Sneed money," Artie spat, wanting to get out of this place as soon as possible when he noticed a woman who likely hadn't bathed in over a month doing some weird New Age dance with some bells in her hands.

The two employees looked to each other in confusion as if they were beginning to zone out into another stupor.

"I'll only repeat myself once, I'm here because you two drugged up losers owe Johnny Sneed protection money! Now are your worthless asses going to comply, or do I have to make you?" Artie growled, cracking his knuckles for emphasis.

"Oh…you're talking about that suit guy…" the redhead spoke up, "…that dude's so lame, he's a total buzz kill!"

"Yes and if you don't pay up it's going to be me killing more than your buzz," Artie said withdrawing his Beretta and pointing it in their faces.

Unfortunately for him, both men began snickering, too stoned out of their minds to comprehend what kind of danger they were really in.

"Oh man, I so need another hit," the blond-haired stoner said raising a green bong made of glass and inhaling the smoke filtering through it.

At the end of his patience, Artie raised his gun and fired a round through the bong, shattering it into tiny pieces and sending both employees falling to the ground.

"Dude, you're just as bad a buzz kill as the suit guy," the redhead groaned.

Artie ignored the man's comment and looked into the back office, where he found several bags of marijuana lying in plain sight on the desk along with several bongs and other smoking paraphernalia that had been recently used. He then looked down to the floor to see both men clambering around for any unused joints. Their next big hit seemed to be all they cared about and it gave him an idea.

Walking around the counter into the office he began throwing bags down onto the floor and started stomping on them, loud enough to attract the stoners' attention.

"Hey man, what are you doing?" the blond-haired guy cried out.

"That's our weed man!" his buddy protested.

"Well this is what happens when you're too fucking stoned out of your mind to do as you're told!" Artie hollered shoving the bongs to the floor and laughing as they shattered to pieces.

"Please bro' we'll do anything! Just don't kill our weed!" the blond whimpered, tears flowing freely down his face. The redhead found an unused joint lying nearby and clutched onto it as if his life depended upon it.

"Then fucking cough it up you worthless fucking pothead!" Artie screamed grabbing the blond stoner by his shirt and tossing him towards the safe, "And I meant the money," he figured he should add in case the punk would be too stupid to comprehend.

Doing as he was told, the cashier scrambled towards the safe and began fidgeting with the keypad before finally getting it right and grabbing a bulky envelope.

"Take it man! Take it!" he cried, forcing it into Artie's stomach, "Just please, never touch our weed again!"

"Call it a deal," the Italian-American chimed as he whirled on his heel and made his way back outside to the waiting Schafter.

"_Christ, you would've swore I was trying to take his own daughter away from him," _he thought climbing into the car and looking down to Johnny's list, "One more place to go and then I'm done with this fucker," Artie whispered as the final location was revealed to be Rockstar Autos over in Stilsen.

"_Indeed, safe to say nobody on this island is safe from that prick," _Artie told himself starting up the car, but then he couldn't be one to say too much. He could only hope Gino was still alive, unsure if he could trust that snake in the grass Sneed to keep his word.

The ride from Little Jamaica to Stilsen normally wouldn't take very long, but once again the full scale gang war between the now warring factions would impede his progress as he passed through the Blue Hook district, where more N.O.O.S.E. operatives, this time joined by F.I.B. agents, struggled to contain another skirmish, this one necessitating intervention by the city fire department, who struggled to put out a blaze that was consuming a tenement building. Nearby there were agents from both units preparing to raid another establishment caught in the throes of bloodshed, a loud pop heard as an armored officer tossed a flashbang through the front doorway and all the men piling in one by one, followed by the rattle of automatic weapons. Once an officer had given him the go ahead he was able to proceed without a hitch.

It wasn't too much longer before Artie was pulling up to the aforementioned auto dealership, only to find its front gates locked and a man smirking from behind with his arms crossed.

"Are you the owner of this dealership?" Artie demanded.

"Yes I am and I know why you're here. I'm through with paying money to Mr. Sneed and you can tell that sanctimonious son of a bitch to go fuck himself for all I care because I'm tired of his worthless ass pushing me around!" the owner roared, a man of medium height with short black hair and a matching goatee, clad in a bright sky blue sport coat and shades that were a few sizes too big for his face, apparently trying to make himself look like an actual 80's rocker.

"_Johnny said he left something in the trunk for me in case things got hairy, well I'd say this situation is hairy enough. Better go check it out," _Artie thought making his way back to the Schafter and popping the trunk, only to have his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.

An RPG-7 rocket launcher rested in the trunk along with five missiles.

"Now I know why so many people actually view that slimy weasel as a threat," Artie whispered scooping up the heavy weapon along with its ammo and then spotted a condemned building behind the auto dealership. Looking around to make sure nobody noticed him, he made his way inside and then continued up the stairs until he reached the rooftop and got into position.

"_Man, now I have another reason to hate Johnny Sneed," _Artie thought to himself while observing the beautiful sport and luxury cars housed in the lot, _"Oh well, I have a cousin to save."_

Taking aim, the hired gun squeezed the trigger and sent his first rocket flying head on into a 2012 Pegassi Infernus and swallowing up a line of sports cars in a chain reaction.

The owner came running out of his office gasping in wide-eyed horror at the smoldering remnants of the cars.

"What the hell are you doing you maniac?" the man screamed, "Do you have any idea how much it costs to have these cars shipped here from Liberty City? The Gambettis are gonna have my balls in a juice maker for this!"

"Compliments of Johnny Sneed," Artie hollered back, "the very man who will have your balls on a silver platter if you don't repay your debts!" he added before launching another rocket that took out two Cognoscenti luxury sedans. _"Goddamn it, I can't believe I just said that. Damn you Johnny Sneed."_

"You're a fucking asshole! I'll never pay money to some bastard who destroys my merchandise!" he screamed defiantly.

"Suit yourself; you're just going to lose more business then!" Artie retorted before firing another rocket into the center of a line of luxury sedans, destroying them in another chain reaction which sent the closest one to the end landing on top of a nearby Banshee.

"Stop it at once! Stop it you barbarian bastard!" the owner cried, now on the verge of tears.

"Pay up the money and I'll stop!" Artie spat before firing his fourth rocket, striking a row of Turismos.

"Please! Please just stop! Just stop it! I have a business to run and a family to support…and a mistress threatening to blackmail me if I don't keep paying her to keep her mouth shut! Please, just stop at once!" the owner pleaded, throwing himself across the hood of an orange Comet that remained untouched throughout the carnage.

Artie was now down to his final rocket and took aim at the owner, hopeful he wouldn't have to resort to killing the man.

"You give me the money and I'll let you walk away alive," he demanded, "Do we have ourselves a deal?"

"Okay, you win! You win!" the man whined as he pitifully scampered towards his office and emerged with a briefcase in hand.

"I'm coming down and you'd better have the money ready or else I've got another rocket with your name on it!" Artie said hefting the launcher onto his shoulder and then making his way down the flights of stairs to the outside, where the trembling owner waited for him with briefcase in hand.

"Here's everything! Please just take it and leave!" the man begged.

"See, it wasn't that hard now, was it?" Artie chuckled as the wail of a fire engine's siren called out from a distance, "Just remember, if the authorities ask you anything, I was never here. You got it?"

The man nodded curtly as Artie turned on his heel and rushed towards the waiting Schafter, throwing the briefcase onto the passenger seat and pulling out his cell phone. Speed dialing Johnny he waited for a few rings and was about to hang up when Johnny finally answered.

"_Talk to me!" _the loan shark snapped before sniffing heavily, like he might have been in the middle of snorting cocaine.

"I got your money," Artie reported.

"_Well spank my ass and call me Nancy! There's a Cappelli that can actually do something right for a change!" _Johnny laughed harshly.

"Cut the crap Sneed, is my cousin still alive?" Artie demanded.

"_He's just fine and dandy my good man! But before you can pick him up you're gonna have to drop the money off. I've got some guys waiting over in Nixon Park. Get your ass over there and give them what they need and then you'll be able to pick up your 'beloved' cousin!" _Johnny spoke before another loud sniff was heard.

"Alright, you'd better not be playing me Sneed!" Artie spat before hanging up.

Making his way towards Nixon Park a news broadcast came in over the radio, interrupting the techno music he had switched over to.

"_This is Mark Kohn with Weazel News, reporting live from Lincoln Island where things are finally calming down following a series of bloody skirmishes between the Redcoat, Hellcat and Uptown Yardie street gangs in which both N.O.O.S.E. and the F.I.B. had to be notified. Altogether there have been thirty-two reported deaths and eleven arrests. The cause between the sudden breakdown of the gangs' well-known allegiance is still unknown at this point-"_

Artie switched off the radio as he reached Nixon Park, where another black Schafter was waiting for him near the entrance. Pulling up behind it, two men in matching black suits stepped out before he could get out of his vehicle.

"Artie Cappelli?" one of the men asked.

"Speaking," the errand boy replied with his gun ready in case they tried anything funny.

"You know what this is all about," the man spoke.

Without a word, Artie handed over all of the protection money he had collected and the two men carefully inspected each envelope to make sure everything was there.

"Alright, here's your cut," the man said handing him an envelope with two thousand dollars inside. "Your cousin is waiting for you over at Lincoln General," he added before he and his partner climbed back into their Schafter and made their exit.

"Finally," Artie exhaled deeply while switching his radio over to The Traveler 107, in the middle of playing some Arabic music.

His next destination would be Lincoln General Hospital, where he would pick up his cousin and get him home as quickly as he could.

"_Gino has never liked waiting and after this ordeal, I doubt he's bound to start."_

XXXXXXXX

Author's Note: And so our favorite errand boy has found himself forced to work for the Devil, or someone who's damn near close, the very man who has been making his and Gino's life a living hell for quite some time, the needle-dicked snake in the grass whom we call Johnny Sneed. What's poor Artie to do in a situation like this?

And onto the random notes and parodies:

The Screw-It Center is a spoof of the Do-It Center chain of hardware stores and Rusty's Trombone is a play on the "rusty trombone" sexual innuendo.

This chapter also borrows elements from several GTA4 missions.

Artie chasing after the laundromat owner is inspired by the "Hung Out to Try" mission for Vlad and him shooting the guy in the kneecap at the deli was inspired by Mikhail Faustin's "Do You Have Protection?" mission where you've gotta lower your aim to target that one guy's kneecap.

I would also say that some of these missions with Artie smashing things up are inspired by this one mission from "The Warriors" game and could just picture a damage meter on the screen with Artie having to fill it up before the owner finally gives in.

In another random note this got me thinking how if this were an actual video game I would have it where Artie would only be able to get certain kinds of melee weapons at locations based upon their everyday usage.

For home improvement-based melee weapons such as a hammer, screwdriver, sledgehammer, shovel, fire axe or chainsaw he would naturally go to a hardware store.

For sport-based melee weapons such as a baseball bat, hockey stick or golf club he would go to a sporting goods store.

For his bladed weapons such as a knife, machete, meat cleaver, katana or battle axe he would stop by a hobby shop, such as Mack's Knickknack Shack, in this case him completing this mission would result in him getting all items for a discount from there on out.

Tune in for the next installment to see what progresses as Artie continues his work for Johnny, Gino, the Aces, the bum under the bridge and whoever else crosses his path as he remains stuck in Rushmore City! As always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	34. Cool Runnings

Author's Note: Well spank my ass and call me Nancy, it's been a hella long time since I've updated this motherfucker (Almost an entire year to be exact)! Yeah, I've been so caught up in other projects it's not been funny, but I've come so far with this and "Grand Theft Auto V" is on the horizon, so I figured I'd better dust off the cobwebs and get this up and running again. I mentally pat myself on the back for being smart enough to take notes so that I know where is where and what is what.

Rest assured, the Metal Harbinger is alive and he has returned!

**Stelm: **Dude I totally feel for you man, yeah the Neo-Confederates irk the shit out of me like nobody's business. They go on and on about being the "most loyal patriotic Americans," yet they still insist upon waving a flag which served as a symbol of rebellion against the same country they claim to support. I also think that your governor Nikki Haley is a fucking cunt; then again we have our own piece of shit Tea Bagger-backed governor in my home state as well, so again I feel your pain, I also thought it was bullshit that they were willing to give that adulterous piece of shit Mark Sanford another term in Congress, so yeah I totally feel your pain.

Okay, I believe I have everything out of the way so on with the story!

Chapter 34: Cool Runnings

Artie exhaled deeply as he sat on the park bench looking out towards Lake Bitchagan, watching as a squad of Hydra jet fighters circled the area above Churchill International Airport, moving about so freely and without the restrictions placed upon everybody else. He could only shake his head at the sight, feeling like he was being mocked.

_"If only I'd gotten out of this shithole sooner I wouldn't be in this situation right now," _he told himself, again lamenting over being stuck in the services of Johnny Sneed.

_"Then again, your cousin would probably be dead," _a more logical part of his mind added before he took another bite out of his hotdog.

The small park he occupied was in the predominantly Hispanic Cuba Norte district, surprisingly one of the cleanest areas in all of Lincoln Island. He watched as two college-aged students sat back to back in some weird meditative pose, both of them chanting in tongues, while two other men were scouring the area along the coast in search of rock samples and elsewhere another guy played fetch with his Border Collie. He found himself smiling as three attractive young women came jogging past him, all wearing tight spandex shorts that hugged their firm buttocks and showed off their finely toned legs.

_"If for some reason I had to remain on this shithole of an island, this would probably be the only place I'd ever want to live," _Artie thought to himself, remembering an ad in the Daily Blowhard's classified section regarding an apartment for rent that would have been conveniently close to the trendy Culo Agitador dance club. _"Less crime, less filth, more hot pieces of ass."_

It was a fairly warm day and the errand boy was sporting a pair of dark blue cargo shorts, along with a white and light blue striped polo shirt and some dressy hiking boots, a pair of aviator shades resting over his dark eyes.

He needed some time to clear his head and felt like sitting near the scenic shoreline could help. It hadn't been able to expel the negative thoughts swimming through his head, but it had helped to calm him, remembering how the first thing he had done was smash the nearest lamp after waking up.

Standing up and stretching his limbs he decided he had relaxed enough and made his way back towards his parked Sentinel.

_"Don't know what I'm gonna do today. Maybe I'll give Iceman a call and see if he wants to shoot pool somewhere. Gotta do something with the guy, been a while since I've seen him," _Artie thought pulling out his electronic locking device and unlocking the doors from a distance.

Before he could reach the car, he heard the booming bass of an oncoming car and reached for the Glock tucked in his waistband, ready for a fight in case it was a rival gang rolling up.

He froze in place as a customized dark blue Washington pulled into view and came to a halt in front of his car.

"Hey Artie, what's up?" J.T. Worth called out, his tone amiable as he stepped out followed by two additional Aces.

The errand boy swallowed hard, remembering how he barely escaped his last encounter with the Aces. Why they were shooting at him was still far beyond his grasp, but right now they were acting cool as if nothing had happened.

_"What the hell is up with this? A while back they were trying to kill me, now they want to know 'what's up?' What the fuck?" _he thought while forcing himself back to reality.

"N-N-Not too much…" he stammered, trying to play cool, yet remaining on guard.

"You don't have anything planned right now, do you?" J.T. asked.

"No why?" the errand boy replied as he closely looked over the two other Aces, one of whom he recognized as the same blond-haired man who had been wounded during the skirmish at Montebello's, his arm still wrapped in a bandage.

_"Whoever he is, that guy must not recognize me," _Artie thought staring at the man closely, who appeared more interested in checking out the same jogging ladies the hitman had been scoping out earlier, obviously not the way he would be acting if he noticed he was dealing with the same guy from a few nights back that had been there when he got shot. The realization made him breathe a little easier.

"Some of those Yardie assholes are dealing around Lincoln Shore. Myself along with Ricky and Jay here were going to deal with them when we saw you here. Figured you might want some cash and some action, so we thought we'd drop in," J.T. smirked reaching into his coat and pulling out a MAC-10 which he offered to him. "What do you say?"

Artie stared at the submachine gun and was a little reluctant to get himself caught up in dealing with those drug-addled psychopaths again, but then he remembered his situation with Johnny.

"Why the hell not? I need to blow off some steam anyway," he replied accepting the gun.

"Glad to have you on the team," J.T. smirked making his way over to the passenger side, "You'd better drive in case any of those bastards are out and about. I wanna be ready to get a shot on them at any time."

"Sure thing," Artie replied climbing into the driver's seat, the station switched to Radio GX and currently playing "Love Injection" by Bang Tango.

"Man, I'm seriously thinking I should start scalping my kills, like I read about in this history book, show the guys how many kills I've scored…show them I'm not the pussy they think I am," Jay spoke up from the backseat.

Artie almost laughed at the comment before turning his attention to J.T., "So have you guys heard anything about that shipment the Yardies were planning?"

"Not lately, can't find anybody who will talk," the Ace street sergeant replied.

"Well we'd better deal with this problem soon. I still remember hearing one of those Hellcats rambling on from a while back about how their leader Pryde was so anxious to take you out after you whacked his brother," Artie spoke as they got closer to Lincoln Shore.

"Pryde's a fucking pussy," J.T. scoffed, "He thinks his dick is too big for his pants, but I doubt he even has anything to jerk. He's all talk, no bite."

"I heard he used to be a chick, but got a sex change," Ricky chimed in from the back.

"And just how the fuck did you know? You fucked him before?" Jay cut in.

"Guys, shut up!" J.T. called out as they turned onto the populated street containing Stryker Lanes, where several Yardies could be seen milling about for potential customers.

"Fuck man, one of them's got an RPG!" Ricky called out, pointing frantically towards a dealer who casually lugged the rocket launcher on his shoulder like he was walking down the streets of Mogadishu.

"Pull the car over," J.T. ordered and readied his own MAC-10.

"Right," Artie nodded and slowed down, turning into a nearby alley and killing the engine.

"Alright boys, we've gotta take down the fucker with the launcher first," J.T. said addressing both Ricky and Jay, "We've gotta be careful though. They outnumber us ten to one here."

"Well what are we sitting around bullshitting for? Let's get this over with," Artie replied with a nod and the two other Aces followed suit.

The four men exited the car and made their way along until they were behind the RPG-wielding Yardie, who appeared to be guarding a dealer.

"Get it while it's hot! Dis be da' finest ice 'ere in all a Rushmore City!" the dreadlocked man called out, "Ya' gon' be partyin' all night long wit dis shit!"

The man succeeded in attracting a few prospective customers while the armed thug turned away to light up a joint.

Noting this lapse in judgment J.T. raised his machine pistol and fired a burst into the back of the man's skull, sending what had once been his face spraying all over a lanky guy in a Hawaiian shirt.

"Ahh! It burns! It burns!" the man screamed running away and knocking over a bicycle courier.

"Get the fuck outta here! This is our turf you druggie freaks!" J.T. shouted while firing away at the drug dealers, sending their would-be customers scattering in all directions.

"Get dem!" another Yardie called out before he was silenced by a burst from Artie's MAC-10.

More Yardies heard their comrade's distress call and charged forth armed with AK-47's and Skorpion SMG 61's.

"Time to collect yourself some scalps," Ricky shouted over to Jay as they both pulled out their own machine pistols and returned fire.

The Yardies fired in unison, forcing Artie to take cover behind an overturned hot dog cart, not the best cover, but better than nothing.

Raising his arm out he fired blindly at his assailants, only to end up hitting an old man who was attempting to flee the scene.

"Fuck," he cursed to himself as he stopped firing briefly, watching as J.T. managed to drop two of the Yardies in a chaotic flurry. There were more of the Caribbean gangsters converging upon the area, two Huntley Sports charging down the street, each carrying four additional members packing AK-47's.

"Ya' ain't got nothin' on us, give it up and we might let cha' keep your heads when we be through wit cha'!" one of the thugs called out before squeezing his trigger and cackling like a maniac.

"Suck our fat cocks!" Jay shouted firing away until his MAC-10 clicked empty and he was struck by a stray round to his upper left leg.

Popping out again Artie fired another salvo of hot lead that sent one of the dealers sagging to the ground, choking on his own blood as he lay dying. With one thug down he dropped another with a blast to the head and a third who was hit in the shoulder, forcing him to drop his Skorpion and leaving him open to be finished off by Ricky.

Jay continued fighting valiantly despite the wound to his leg and had succeeded in killing two more Yardies before another round grazed his side and a third hit him in the stomach.

"Jay!" Ricky called out to his friend, but the young Ace continued to fight as blood poured from his wounds.

J.T. noticed his colleague's predicament and continued firing until he was forced to reload. With no time to spare he holstered the machine pistol and withdrew a Desert Eagle, determined to do whatever he could to save the wounded Ace.

Taking aim he fired a round that took out one of the Yardies' kneecaps and fired again, catching another in the groin and leaving him to wallow and bellow on the pavement. He continued his counter assault, managing to drop a third thug with three rounds to the chest and a fourth with a shot to the temple, obliterating the entire right side of the man's face. Before his clip could empty he succeeded in taking down another with two shots that would shatter his sternum like glass.

Ricky was desperate to save his friend, yet at the same time was panicking as he ran low on ammo. He still fired away wildly, only succeeding in wounding one of the Yardies with a shot to the wrist that forced him to drop his AK-47. The dealers still continued to attack him and he fired until the last of his MAC-10 ammo ran out.

Sadly he would never get the chance to grab his sidearm as one of the Jamaican gangsters fired a burst into his chest, one of the rounds piercing his heart and killing him instantly.

"Ricky!" Jay cried in anguish, "You fucking bastards!" he screamed as he tried to reload his MAC-10, yet the pain was too much for him and he would soon join his friend in the afterlife as more rounds tore through his chest and stomach.

"Motherfuckers," J.T. roared as he fired what was left of his Desert Eagle's current clip before forcing his way over to a fallen Yardie and scooping up the dead man's Skorpion.

Artie meanwhile had finally made his way out from behind the overturned hotdog cart and forced his way over to another dead Yardie, grabbing the man's AK-47 and spare clips, as well as looting another dead member of his Skorpion ammo.

Raising his newly-acquired AK-47, the errand boy cut loose on the Yardies around one of the Huntley Sports, dropping all of them in a bloody hail of gunfire that opened more room for J.T. to jump in and drop three additional dealers.

"That all of these fuckers?" Artie asked as him and J.T. stood with their backs to each other.

A loud chorus of buzzing engines answered his question as six Bati 800 street bikes came racing towards them, dodging their way around the carnage.

Taking cover behind the shot up Huntley Sport, J.T. waited until one of the bikers got close enough and extended the butt of his AK-47, sending the biker flying off and striking the back of his unprotected head hard against the blacktop. With the engine still idling he grabbed the bike and leapt on.

"Hurry, get on!" he shouted.

Artie leapt onto the back of the bike without hesitation and held on tonight as J.T. took off after the five remaining dealers.

"We've gotta stop these guys before they can get back to Little Jamaica. They do that and we're as good as fucked," J.T. shouted.

"Don't worry, I'll deal with them! You just focus on driving!" Artie replied readying his Skorpion.

J.T. gunned the accelerator and sped up until he was on the tail of one of the Yardies bobbing and weaving his way through the traffic of the Kasich district, forcing several motorists to swerve out of their way.

"Alright, hold its steady I've got a clear shot!" the hired gun shouted to the Ace as the latter finally began to slow the crotch rocket into a steady line and they were quickly gaining ground on the first Yardie, who they could tell wanted to turn around and open fire, but was struggling to maintain control of his own bike. With a squeeze of his trigger Artie dropped the dealer with a burst that caught him in the back and sent him falling sideways from his bike, hitting his head against the nearby curb.

"Fuck yeah, good shooting man!" J.T. called out as he veered right and spotted the next Yardie dealer, who had just cut off a Coach. Speeding up the bike, the Ace managed to zip past the city bus before it could clog up both lanes.

Unfortunately for them, the Yardie had managed to grab hold of his Skorpion and was firing back at them, forcing the Ace to weave back and forth at a chaotic pace.

"Fucking watch it will you!" Artie shouted gripping hard onto the bike, nearly falling off more than once.

"Tell that to him!" J.T. retorted as he felt a breeze of bullets whizzing past his head.

Steadying his grip long enough, the Italian managed to squeeze off a burst that riddled the dealer's bike with bullets, only managing to graze the man's leg with one shot. He still sped forth as if nothing had happened.

"If you'd fucking hit the guy where it counts!" J.T. spat.

"Jesus Fucking Christ! Just because I'm an errand boy doesn't automatically mean I'm an ace marksman asshole, no pun intended on the Ace part," Artie replied trying to get another shot in, only for the fleeing dealer to take an abrupt left turn onto another street.

Cutting onto the sidewalk and making the bike bounce (and nearly sending Artie airborne once again), they were soon back on the dealer's tail and Artie fired away until he struck the cycle's back tire and caused it to spin out underneath the Yardie, who hit the ground hard and likely suffered several internal injuries as a result. J.T. would be quick to finish the man off, running over his head as he tumbled along the concrete.

"Two down, you're doing good man!" the Ace shouted as he drove around looking for the next dealer as they sped into the Harbor district.

They eventually found the third dealer coming to a busy intersection, where he used his bike to gracefully speed between the two lanes of cars waiting at a red light. Noticing the Ace was hot on his trail, the Yardie showed no regard for human life, firing away and striking several of the cars between him and his pursuers.

This created a serious problem as many of the frightened motorists abandoned their cars in the middle of the street, making it nearly impossible for J.T. to drive around and for Artie to shoot through.

"Son of a bitch!" J.T. spat as he nearly ran over a woman fleeing from a Presidente, but Artie wasn't as cautious and continued firing away at the dealer, cutting down a heavily-tattooed guy who had leapt out of a Walton.

After a rocky stretch, the Ace had managed to maneuver his way around the abandoned vehicles and sped through the intersection, where they had just come inches away from being turned into street pizza by an oncoming DFT-30 flatbed truck.

"Jesus J.T. will you fucking watch where you're going? You're gonna get us fucking killed if those Yardie bastards don't," Artie hollered.

"Well fucking excuse me for trying to help your sorry guinea ass!" the Ace called out as the third dealer again came into view, turning onto a street where a city landscaping company was in the middle of chopping down some old trees. A wood chipper was positioned near the sidewalk and a maniacal gleam came into the hired gun's dark eyes as he fired away at the dealer's street bike.

One of his bullets eventually popped the bike's rear tire and the fleeing Yardie wobbled out of control until his front tire connected with a large branch that had been dropped by the crew and the man was sent airborne, flying head first right into the wood chipper for a gory spectacle to follow.

"Goddamn man, I didn't know you had _that_ much in you! That was un-fucking-believable!" J.T. laughed as the bloody chunks of meat flew out of the chipper.

"That's how you fucking do it!" Artie snorted as they continued forth through the crowded streets.

The fourth dealer soon came into view and lobbed a Molotov cocktail over his shoulder, but J.T. saw him coming from a mile away and the glass bottle shattered on the empty concrete.

Artie raised his Skorpion and opened fire, only for a Landstalker to pull into their path before the bullets could connect. The rounds shattered the S.U.V.'s windows and the driver spun out of control, knocking over a lamppost and fire hydrant before colliding with the side of an apartment complex.

"Right idea, wrong target," J.T. quipped, but Artie ignored him and reloaded.

Another sharp turn took the duo onto a street where a new office building was under construction and the crew was using a crane to raise a generator to the rooftop. The Yardie saw this and began firing upward, eventually snapping the cable and sending the generator plummeting back towards the earth.

"Shit, hang on tight!" J.T. ordered popping a wheelie as he gunned the accelerator, speeding underneath and out of range, the generator crashing harmlessly into the ground below.

"That was close," Artie grunted as the Yardie fired what was left of his clip, only to miss all of his shots and toss the submachine gun to the ground in frustration.

_"Big mistake," _the hired gun told himself as he fired a barrage that caught the man at the base of his neck and sent him falling hard to the ground, his unmanned bike skidding along the pavement and crashing into a line of newspaper vendors before coming to a halt against a chain-link fence.

"Alright, one motherfucker to go and we have to make it quick. We're not too far away from Little Jamaica," J.T. spoke up darting his head back and forth for any signs of their final target or his buddies that wouldn't take too kindly to him being followed.

Eventually they found the final dealer being escorted by a Huntley Sport full of Yardies wielding AK-47's.

"Son of a bitch, we're too late!" the Ace grunted ducking his head to avoid the oncoming automatic rounds fired in his direction.

"More for us to kill then," Artie grunted back as he raised the Skorpion and pelted away at the S.U.V., shattering its rear window, but not killing any of the Yardies.

By now J.T. knew he had no other choice but to help out and raised his own Skorpion, trying to hit the vehicle's tires and do whatever he could to slow it down, managing to riddle its back tailgate and bumper and shatter its taillights, but not hitting the tires.

Artie slapped a fresh clip into his machine pistol and eventually scored a lucky shot that sent one of the Yardies tumbling from his opened window as he peeked his upper body out to return fire, crushed by one of the rear tires as he hit the tarmac.

J.T. also managed to score a kill, striking another Yardie through his right eye before taking out the front passenger with a three shot burst that destroyed the man's nose. This left only the driver of a rickety S.U.V. that was threatening to blow at any time.

With his assailants distracted by his colleagues, the final dealer reached into his side pack and pulled out a Molotov cocktail, lighting the cloth sticking out and readying to toss it towards the attackers when Artie managed to score a critical shot through the back of the driver's head.

The deceased driver's foot stomped down on the gas pedal and the S.U.V. went barreling head on towards the final dealer, leaving the man no time to move. The Huntley Sport collided head on with the hapless man and a large explosion followed.

"Fuck yeah!" Artie and J.T. shouted in unison as they watched both vehicles burn.

"So that's how you do it up in Liberty, huh?" the Ace asked.

"Goddamn right we do," Artie replied, stopping when he noticed a bag that had been thrown to the side as the S.U.V. collided with the last dealer's Bati 800. Quickly dismounting, he ran over and scooped the bag up, only to smile from ear to ear when he saw what was inside.

"What is it?" J.T. asked only to stop when he saw the bag's contents.

Inside was a whole shitload of money, ten thousand dollars to be exact.

"We'll worry about this later. We've gotta get outta here," J.T. said as police sirens filtered in from afar.

"Gotcha on that," Artie spoke climbing onto the back of the street bike and then they took off.

XXXXX

After managing to lose the police J.T. had taken Artie back to the park in Cuba Norte where he left his Sentinel parked.

"Well that was fun, don't you agree?" the Ace smirked.

"If you consider killing a bunch of drugged out psychopaths as fun, then I'd say we just took a trip to Dickeyland!" Artie laughed.

(A/N: Dickeyland is supposed to be a spoof of Disneyland and Dickie Duck would be my pedophile parody of Mickey Mouse.)

"Hell yeah, well here's your cut for a job well done," the street sergeant said offering Artie five thousand of the ten thousand dollars recovered, "You've earned it. We Aces actually take the effort to look out for our friends, unlike those backstabbing prick Redcoats."

"I appreciate it man. I'll keep in touch with you guys," Artie nodded and the Ace went about his way.

Exhaling deeply after a job well done, the hired gun was about to enter his car when his phone started ringing. Looking down to the caller ID screen he saw it was Donnie.

"What's up?" he asked answering the phone.

_"Artie, are you nearby? I need you to get your ass over to Hell's Belles right away," _the elder Cappelli cousin spoke, sounding like he was struggling to control his temper.

"Whoa hold on, what's wrong Cuz?" Artie asked.

_"I'll tell you more about it when you get your ass over here. Please tell me you're nearby," _Donnie pleaded.

"I'm over in Cuba Norte right now, but I can be over there soon," the errand boy replied, knowing it would be a hike over to the aforementioned gentlemen's club.

_"Cuba Norte, what the fuck are you doing over there?" _Donnie asked, sounding severely irritated.

"If you must know, I just got back from blasting a bunch of those Yardie freaks," Artie spoke, only to be cut off before he could go any further.

_"You did what?!" _he screamed.

"You heard me, I just killed a bunch of those punk ass Yardies," Artie retorted, "What the hell do you have to be so on the edge about that for? I thought you were always so gung ho about blasting anything standing in your way, well those fuckers were standing in mine."

There was no immediate reply from the other end, only labored breaths.

"Well? What do you have to be complaining about?" Artie asked again.

_"Nothing Cuz, it's just that those Yardies are some very dangerous motherfuckers. You know how vicious they can be, right? If you mess around with them they'll skin you alive before they can kill you. Trust me Cuz, if I were you I'd stay away from them at all costs," _Donnie replied.

"What?" Donnie asked in disbelief, "You mean to tell me that you're actually being cautious for once in your life? Mr. I'll-Fuck-Anything-That-Moves-Yet-I-Can't-Shoot-a- Drugged-Out-Freak!"

_"Please, just get your ass over to Hell's Belles right away," _Donnie repeated before hanging up the phone.

_"Jeez, what the hell was that all about?" _Artie asked himself climbing into the car and starting up before proceeding to the strip club.

Author's Note: Yeah, I know I've been gone a LONG time, but I have made my glorious return (will be glorious depending upon how many reviews I can get) to GTA fiction.

I originally planned for this to be where Artie and J.T. would both be on motorbikes, but then I got into the "What if this were an actual video game?" mindset and thought it would be just as cool to have a "turret-type" mission like you've seen in most of the GTA games.

Well tune in next time (which will hopefully come sooner) to see what kind of mischief our beloved antihero will find himself in and please read and review!

This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	35. Life in the Fast Lane

Author's Note: Yes, this chapter title is inspired by the title of the Eagles song.

Chapter 35: Life in the Fast Lane

It didn't take Artie long to arrive over at Hell's Belles, his first time being there since the night Donnie whacked the former owner. He shuddered when thinking back to that night, remembering how he and his cousin had barely made it out of that ordeal alive.

Climbing out of the car he looked over to the building to see much hadn't changed from the outside, on the inside it would be debatable, especially given Donnie's expensive tastes.

Aside from Donnie's prized Banshee, there were only two Pony vans present, both of which belonged to the Pan-Lantic Construction Company. A lone guard stood outside in a black suit with an earpiece.

"Sorry pal, this place doesn't open for another week…if that ever even happens," the guard spoke as Artie approached.

"Relax; I'm the owner's cousin. He wanted to see me," the errand boy replied.

The guard carefully looked him over before cautiously stepping aside, "Well, you do kind of look like him, so you're probably not lying about it. Alright then, he's inside. If you do anything funny, so help me God I will be in there kicking your ass!"

"Fine, fine you have my word no 'funny business' will occur," Artie nodded as he made his way inside.

As soon as he stepped through the door he found himself having to duck underneath a long board being carried by two carpenters.

"Whoa, 'scuse us there buddy," another worker behind them called out, lugging a heavy toolbox as the trio made their exit.

"What the hell?" he whispered to himself looking around the place, finding all the blood from the previous encounter had been cleaned up and other things being remodeled as several workers moved about, but no Donnie in sight. There were two workers seated at the bar enjoying their lunch break so he decided to ask them.

"Excuse me, but where may I find the owner?" he asked one of the workers, an overweight man in a sweat-stained wife beater with a heart tattooed on his right arm that had the name _'Helga'_ written inside it.

"He's in the back right now, in the middle of a 'casting call.' I dunno if it would be a good idea to bug him right now," the worker spoke before inhaling his submarine sandwich.

"Unless you're here for the 'casting call' yourself," added the other worker with a chuckle, a black man in a plaid shirt, "I thought there were only gonna be women dancers here."

Artie shot an annoyed glare at the man. "I'm the owner's cousin. He said he needed to speak with me right away. Now if you don't mind, I'll be on my way."

Making his way towards the back, the hitman was instantly halted by a line of beautiful women of all ethnicities stretching the entire hallway's length.

_"Goddamn Donnie just how the hell do you do it?" _he asked himself as he carefully scanned each woman standing in the line, some dressed in a variety of provocative costumes including the common nurse, schoolgirl, police officer and devil costumes, as well as a nun, a cavewoman, a Mexican Luchador, a postal worker, a Burger Shot employee, a Republican Space Ranger and even a woman in a hazmat outfit.

"Wow, hello there sugar," cooed one of the nurses, "You look like you're in need of a sponge bath."

"Babe, you'll have more than the right to 'remain silent' with me," a faux police officer winked, gesturing suggestively with her nightstick.

"I'll give you my own special kind of 'salvation'…if you catch my drift," the nun smiled.

"You look like you're working with a big package there, let's see it," the postal worker called out.

"Uh…I'd be happy to ladies, but I'm here on other business," Artie nodded making his way towards the office door, where he could hear a woman's screams of ecstasy coming from within. _"Okay, I'd better wait before I go in."_

He waited for a couple moments before the door opened and out came a busty blonde beauty in a skimpy cowgirl outfit, walking awkwardly as if she had just ridden a bucking bronco.

"Next!" Donnie's voice called out.

"I'll be just a few minutes," Artie whispered to the dominatrix at the front of the line, "I'm just here to visit my cousin," he added to ensure he wouldn't be suspected of homoerotic intentions.

Without a word the errand boy stepped into the office, where he found his cousin reclining in a comfy leather swivel chair wearing only a purple robe with gold trim.

"Oh Artie, c'mon in Cuz!" the elder Cappelli spoke quickly reaching for a rag and a bottle of sanitizer as his cousin closed the door behind him.

"You wanted to see me. What's going on?" the younger Cappelli cousin asked pulling up a nearby chair and sitting down.

Donnie stopped everything he was doing and reached into his desk for a bottle of brandy and a shot glass. Pouring himself a pinch he quickly downed the shot and slammed the glass down onto the wooden surface, his hands suddenly shaking.

"Is everything alright?" Artie asked leaning towards his cousin, only to be cut off by a feral growl.

"No Cuz, everything is not alright," Donnie spoke in a low, menacing tone sounding like he was doing everything in his power to not go on a massive shooting spree. "Believe me; I've had sex with thirteen women already, fourteen if you count that threesome with those Siamese twins, and it still hasn't taken the edge off."

"Damn, you really are pissed about something," Artie gasped.

"You're goddamn right I am!" Donnie roared, slapping his hands down on the desk hard enough to make his cousin jump.

There was a tense pause as the elder Cappelli attempted to calm himself, his deep breaths the only thing heard before he again reached for the bottle of brandy and poured himself another shot.

"So, what's wrong? Spit it out!" Artie dared to speak up.

Silence followed again as Donnie struggled to compose himself.

"Some douchebag code enforcement officer isn't letting me reopen the club," Donnie said before slinking back into his chair. "After what happened the last time we were here he thinks this place 'isn't safe to reopen to the public.'"

Artie was about to make a smartass comment, but decided against it to avoid further stoking the man's rage as he rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Who the fuck does that asshole think he is to tell me I can't reopen this club? The previous cocksuckers who ran this place are six feet under! They did more damage than I ever could! I'm trying to perform a civic duty for my community by providing the masses with some much needed, more sterilized entertainment compared to the other shit that we find around here!" Donnie shouted, waving his hands around wildly.

"Uh yeah, with all the poor bastards around here looking to have an affair, I'm sure you're really going to do a lot of good for the community," Artie quipped leaning back in his chair.

"Damn right I'm gonna do a lot of good!" Donnie said staring intently towards his cousin, "I know so because you my dear cousin are going to help me convince that rat bastard to let me reopen this fair club!"

"And naturally you call upon me when you need some random bitch work done. Once again I must question whether I should feel flattered or frightened," Artie exhaled, rubbing his temple.

"You're part of a budding fucking empire! You _have_ to feel flattered Cuz!" Donnie shouted getting right in his face.

"Okay, I stand in place then…" Artie winced, tugging nervously at his collar.

"That's the spirit!" the elder Cappelli laughed, giving his cousin a not so light slap on the cheek.

"And just how are we going to convince this 'rat bastard' to let you reopen this club? Want me to shoot him up just like you shot up this very club a while back?" Artie sardonically replied.

"Fuck no man! For once we need to take somebody alive. He's gotta live long enough to at least sign the dotted line ya' know," Donnie chuckled.

"For once you actually show signs of logic…I have to say I'm genuinely impressed," the younger Cappelli laughed.

Donnie ignored his cousin's comment and sat back down at his desk, "We need to scare the guy into submission and I have a plan set in motion."

"Now this I have to hear," Artie replied casually reclining with his hands resting behind his head.

"I've already called the guy and scheduled an appointment. He thinks that I'm sending somebody over to pick him up and bring him back to the club for further negotiations, but what he doesn't know is that I'm going to have somebody give him the ride of his life. I don't care what you have to do to scare the living shit out of the guy, just as long as you don't kill him," Donnie said leaning forward with a sadistic smirk.

"And you're absolutely sure this is going to work, huh?" Artie asked, still showing skepticism over his cousin's plan.

"Cuz, I sold cars in Las Venturas of all places for two whole fuckin' years. Trust me, in that city customers can be downright brutal when it comes to negotiations and it takes a lot of convincing if you're going to sell them anything. I had to do my fair share of wild tricks to get the people to buy anything I was selling; then again I also didn't have an entire army of hookers on hand to help me convince anybody. I actually had to do some hard work at one point in my life believe it or not," Donnie said again leaning back in his chair.

"Fine," Artie said standing up.

"There's a car waiting for you out back. Get over to this address and pick the guy up. The rest is up to you," Donnie said handing his cousin the officer's business card, "Oh and you'd better change your clothes too so you look more professional. There's a suit in the security office you can put on."

"Alright, I'll be on my way then," Artie said making his way towards the door.

"You're right. I've got an open 'casting call' to resume," Donnie added, "Christ, with all the time you've spent in here the ladies probably think we've gone gay already."

"Did you really have to say that?" Artie replied with a shudder before disappearing through the door and being met by the ladies.

"Please tell us you didn't get the job," a lady dressed up like one of Santa's elves spoke, shooting the hired gun a death glare.

"Damn it, I wasn't here to audition! I'm really the owner's cousin and he really wanted to see me, but not for a job here!" Artie snapped, but stopped himself as he noticed a few of the women jump, "…well not for a dancer job, but I wish you all the best of luck," he said walking along. "Don't worry, I'll hold you to that sponge bath," he said to the nurse before making his way back into the main room and towards the security office.

Within seconds the errand boy was now wearing a black suit similar to the guard's out front and he exited the club.

"I see you're part of the team now, huh?" the guard asked as Artie made his exit.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he casually replied making his way around the building towards a back alley, where a gunmetal gray Super GT awaited him.

"Well I'll be riding in style. Too bad this baby's gonna be getting pretty dinged up when I'm done," Artie thought as he climbed inside and switched the radio over to Rock of Rushmore 89.5, which was currently playing "Slave to the Grind" by Skid Row.

He needed to get over to the Washington Common district to pick up the code enforcement officer, the amount of time it would take largely dependent upon traffic. It was now the later afternoon hours of the day and many motorists were in the midst of the post-work rush to get home or do whatever they could before the creeps came out at night.

Eventually he turned onto a street where traffic was backed up due to a three car pileup. Police were slowly directing cars through a narrow stretch as emergency workers loaded injured passengers into the back of several ambulances and firefighters used the 'jaws of life' to free a trapped motorist from a Previon sedan that had been crushed like a soda can.

As he waited patiently in line a live report from Weazel News came over the radio.

_"This is Mark Kohn reporting live with Weazel News where earlier today there was another reported gang-related skirmish between the Uptown Yardie and Aces street gangs._

_ "According to eyewitness reports, the disturbance began in the Lincoln Shore district and ended with a motorcycle chase that left five suspected drug dealers dead and a whole bunch of pissed off meth addicts. The surviving suspects were described as two Caucasian males, one of whom appeared to be an Ace. Nothing else is further known, but we will keep you posted as details emerge. Mark Kohn, Weazel News."_

_ "Good thing nobody still knows who the hell I am around here," _Artie thought to himself as he reached the front of the line where a cop stood in the center of an intersection directing traffic, paying no heed to the sports car's occupant as he motioned for him to pass.

Artie continued out of the Lakeview district and the drive over to Washington Common was thankfully uneventful, finding himself in an upscale part of town where most of the city's important buildings were located.

"Alright, he should be close," he said aloud looking down at the business card, a _'Bartholomew Fenian'_ listed.

Eventually he pulled up in front of a small office building, where a well-dressed man in a white suit and charcoal fedora waited. Assuming he must be Bartholomew Fenian, he honked the horn. The man nodded in acknowledgment and made his way over to the car.

"Hello there, I trust Mr. Cappelli sent you. Well it's a pleasure to meet you sir, but we need to make this quick as I have other appointments booked for the day," Mr. Fenian said climbing into the passenger's seat and buckling up.

"Right, this should be pretty fast and before you know it you'll be on your way," Artie replied shifting the car into drive and going in the direction of Jefferson Vale.

It started out nice and slow, Artie switching the radio station over to the Peace FM station for some relaxing music and coming to a halt at a red light, wanting to lure the man into a false sense of security before making his move. He continued forth at the legal speed limit until they approached the off-ramp leading to Jefferson Vale, when he took a sudden left turn that cut off an orange Moonbeam van.

"Hey, what are you doing? That's not how we get to Lakeview!" Fenian protested.

"And just who the hell said I was going to Lakeview?" Artie replied with a devilish smirk as they passed the Van Winkle Dome and he switched the station over to Radio GX, which was playing "Soul Doubt" by NoFX, the perfect music for picking up the pace.

"Stop this car at once! I have a job to do!" the man demanded as he reached into his pocket for his cell phone, "Take me there immediately or else I will be notifying the authorities at once!"

"But I want to take the scenic route!" Artie replied, stomping the gas pedal and sending the Super GT peeling down the street with a deafening screech, causing the phone to go flying from the city worker's hands.

"What are you doing? Slow this damn car down!" Fenian screamed.

"Aw c'mon, you gotta live life in the fast lane every now and then!" Artie cackled maniacally, speeding along as fast as the car would allow him, swerving into the path of an oncoming Linerunner.

"Watch where you're driving you maniac! You're going to get us both killed!" Fenian wailed.

"You're gonna get fucking killed if you don't give us what we want!" Artie shouted back, moving out of the semi's path at the last second, barely avoiding a cab that had pulled over to pick up a fare.

"What do you want?! Huh, what do you want? Do you want money? Do you want my wife and kids? Do you want a hand job?" Fenian whined, "Oh god, what the hell did I ever do to you? Please, I'll give you anything you want! Just don't kill me! Please don't kill me!" the man screamed, now having broken into tears.

"Like I fucking believe you," Artie spat as he charged through a crowded intersection, ramming into a Bobcat that had been making a turn, again making the officer shriek in terror, "and please shut the fuck up while you're at it!"

The enforcement officer ignored his demands and continued whimpering like a scolded dog as he drove up a ramp onto the patio of the Ronald Hyatt Recreation Center and took the car airborne as he skipped the flight of stairs leading to the entrance and sent them flying through a farmer's market that had been set up, patrons scattering in all directions as he plowed through the vendor's booths, the windshield covered by numerous different types of fruit and vegetable juices that forced Artie to switch on the wipers. He continued at his breakneck pace until he spotted a cab in front of him. Slowing to a moderate pace, he rammed into the cab's backside hard enough to nearly send his passenger flying through the windshield, restrained only by his seatbelt.

"You're insane!" the man shouted as Artie rammed into the back of a Secsi-owned Patriot.

"You're goddamn right I am!" the hitman laughed hysterically as he turned up the radio's volume, "All I Want" by The Offspring now playing.

A Packer came into view and Artie sped towards it, "Hope you have your frequent flyer miles handy!"

Fenian saw what he had in mind and his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, "Oh god, please no! I have irritable bowel syndrome!" he pleaded, his cries falling on deaf ears as the errand boy sped the car up the ramp and again went airborne, landing hard and sending the man's head banging against the rooftop.

Surely enough, his bowels soon emptied and the smell hit Artie harder than a 'roided up 300-pound Juggernaut linebacker.

"Oh goddamn you! God-fucking-damn you!" Artie grunted in disgust, reaching over and backhanding his passenger, who let out another girlish scream.

The errand boy pulled onto a sidewalk and continued picking up speed, running over a few pedestrians and forcing others to flee for safety, shattering the windshield and destroying most of the sports car's hood.

"Please, just stop! Just stop at once!" Fenian pleaded, a yellow spot now forming over his crotch.

"Not until your punk ass gives Mr. Cappelli what he wants!" Artie shouted back, neglecting to mention he was working for his cousin.

"What?! What do you want? Tell me at once! Is that what this is all about? Tell me at once! Please!" Fenian desperately pleaded before letting out another shriek as Artie again took the car airborne when he approached a hill.

"I want you to allow Mr. Cappelli to reopen Hell's Belles!" Artie shouted back as he rammed head on into a man who had been riding on a Hakuchou Custom street bike.

Fenian looked at him in disbelief, "Are you serious? That place isn't safe! Didn't you hear about that massacre that happened there a few months back? We can't reopen that place to the public!"

"You can and you will!" Artie retorted, "You will allow Mr. Cappelli to reopen Hell's Belles or else I'm going to drive this car into the river and drown your sorry ass!"

They were getting closer to the Komojack River and he began speeding up for emphasis.

"Oh god no, please I don't know how to swim!" Fenian screamed and lunged for the steering wheel, only to eat another backhand for his troubles.

"I'm not going to tell you again. Let him reopen the club!" Artie screamed, ready to leap out if necessary. He was getting closer to the end with no intention of slowing down. "I mean it. I'm gonna do it you fucking rat bastard!"

"Okay, okay, okay! He can reopen the club! He can reopen the club! I'll sign the papers! Just please don't kill me! Don't kill me!" Fenian pleaded, now a hysterical mess.

Hearing the man's words, Artie hit the hand brake and the car performed a 180 as it skidded to a halt on the dock.

With the car stopped Fenian continued crying until he was stopped by a powerful hand gripping his throat.

"Now you listen to me and you listen good," Artie started, narrowing his eyes and tightening his grip around the code enforcement officer's throat, "You better not go back on your word and I mean it, or else I will fucking kill you right on the spot. You're going to go to that club and you will sign those papers. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir," the officer spoke in a garbled tone.

"What was that?" Artie screamed, tightening his grip around the man's throat.

"Yes! Yes sir!" he screamed.

"Alright, now that's more like it," the errand boy said releasing his grip and shifting the car back into drive.

"And to think you could have avoided all of this," Artie smirked towards the jittery man, who only whimpered quietly with his head resting against the window.

XXXXX

"Okay Mr. Cappelli, all you need to do is sign here, here and here," Mr. Fenian stated pointing to the blank lines on numerous contracts spread out across Donnie's desk.

The jittery code enforcement officer stood in Donnie's office with his white pants heavily stained following his 'ride from Hell.' Artie stood behind him to ensure he carried out his assigned duties, albeit with a clothespin clamped over his nose to block out the rancid odor.

"Oh, and before I forget you need to initial here," Fenian said pointing to a random spot on another contract.

"Jeez, to think this would entitle so much paperwork," Donnie exhaled, now dress in a white dress shirt and black slacks, "Had I known it was gonna be this much, I would've let my associate dump you in the river!"

An audible rumble followed as Fenian stood before the desk, clamping his knees together as Donnie looked up shooting him a 'don't you dare shit all over my freshly cleaned carpet' look.

"It's ok; I think that's all you need to sign Mr. Cappelli!" he squeaked out, quickly gathering all the papers and shoving them into a manila file.

"Very well then, it's been a pleasure doing business with you," Donnie said standing up and shaking the man's hand.

"I need to use the restroom now!" Fenian said tearing his hand away from Donnie's and bolting out the door.

"Nice work Cuz, I'm damned proud of you," the elder Cappelli said making his way around the desk and giving his cousin a hearty pat on the shoulder, "As soon as this place reopens you're going to enjoy lifetime V.I.P. status around here!"

"Thanks, I do what I can for family," Artie chuckled.

Donnie reached into his pocket and produced his checkbook, writing out a check and handing it to his cousin, "Here, this is for all your troubles."

The check amounted to six thousand dollars.

"Thanks Cuz. What can I say? It was all in a day's work," the errand boy replied, unsure of what else to say.

"Well it's a job well done. Now go on, you've earned yourself the rest of the day off," Donnie said leading his cousin to the door, "I'd let you stick around, but I still have more applicants to 'interview,' if you know what I mean," he finished with a wink.

"Right, never can keep a 'hardworking' man down," Artie replied with a laugh, "I'll talk to you later."

Artie changed back into his street clothes and made his way back outside, wondering what he would do with the rest of his day off.

He was approaching his Sentinel when a pink Feltzer convertible pulled up alongside him, blasting "Second Go" by LIGHTS before the engine was killed.

"Oh my god, it's Donnie's cousin! Hey!" an excited voice called out.

Turning around he was met by the familiar faces of Vanessa the masseuse, who had been driving, along with Evie the hair stylist and the two Russian twins he had briefly met at that orgy over to Donnie's from a while back.

"Oh…hey there ladies, what's up?" Artie replied with a small wave.

"So honey, why haven't you come over to the shop lately?" Evie mockingly pouted, sticking out her lower lip and making puppy dog eyes at him, "I could go for experiencing more of that 'Cappelli pride' I've heard so much about."

_"As long as my cousin hasn't infected you with any S.T.D.'s, or if you weren't one of his 'leftovers' to begin with I'd fuck you in a heartbeat," _Artie thought to himself staring at the stylist's cleavage popping out from her neon blue tube top, "I've been a busy man lately."

"Too busy to visit lonely girls in need of tender loving connection?" inquired Illyana, the twin who displayed the weaker command of English.

"Uh yeah…sorry," Artie replied nervously rubbing the back of his neck, "I'll definitely have to make it up to you sometime in the future."

"Who says we have to wait for the future?" giggled Mischa, the other twin.

"How about we make the future right now?" Evie purred rubbing her chin seductively.

"Oh boy…" the errand boy muttered to himself as the three women converged upon him like wolves stalking their prey, "…I don't have enough space in my backseat for this," he said backing against the Sentinel.

"I'd love to join in ladies, but I already have an appointment with Donnie so you're on your own," Vanessa spoke up making her way towards the club.

Before Artie could say any more, the three women were shoving him into his backseat and closing the door behind them.

XXXXX

_** 5 Hours Later **_

The backdoor finally swung open and Artie emerged from his backseat, visibly out of breath and having to brace himself against his car.

"Mmmm…that was so much fun," Evie spoke as she climbed out of the Sentinel, reaching back inside for her G-string while bending at an angle where Artie could see her bare buttocks peeking out from beneath her too short miniskirt.

"My god, who knew American hammer could pound so hard," Illyana gasped as she climbed out followed closely by her twin.

"We need to take a ride again sometime," Mischa added.

_"Well now I know if I would've left the city earlier I would've missed out on this opportunity," _Artie thought to himself as he finally regained his breath and smoothed out his clothing.

"Well thank you ladies that was definitely a…magical experience. Indeed we will have to do this again sometime," Artie smiled until noticing his fly was still open and he quickly reached down to zip it up.

"You're damn right we're going to!" Evie said before pulling him closely into a passionate kiss, grabbing his hands so they were gripping her ample buttocks. "See you later stud!" she called out as the three ladies made their way into the club.

"For once it's good to be Artie Cappelli," the hired gun whispered to himself, _"So long as Gladys doesn't find out."_

His cell phone suddenly rang and he looked down to see it was Gladys herself calling him.

"Speak of the devil," he told himself before switching the phone on, "Hey Gladys-" he began speaking, only to be cut off by a frantic yelp.

_"Oh god Artie, you have to help me!" _she screamed from the other end.

"Gladys, what's wrong?" he demanded, just as the shatter of glass resounded in the background.

_"I don't have time to explain, but the Children of Chaos are here! You need to get over to the Silver Dollar Saloon in Red Light! Please hurry!" _the ex-hooker screamed before the line went dead.

"Fuck, that sounds bad," Artie told himself as he shifted through his contacts and dialed Iceman's number.

The weapons dealer picked up after the third ring, _"Bro, what's up?"_

"Iceman, I can't talk right now. Gladys is in danger and I need some of your merchandise A.S.A.P.," Artie shouted climbing into the driver's seat, "Meet me over behind Socialist Autos in New Leningrad, pronto!"

_"Alright, I'll be there as soon as I can!" _his friend replied before hanging up.

"Please be safe," Artie whispered as he started the car up and made his way over to the designated meeting point.

XXXXX

Author's Note: Holy sheep shit, this update came A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT SOONER than the last chapter! Then again, I'm sure you'd all rather wait one day compared to nearly one year!

This mission was inspired by "Fender Ketchup" from GTA: San Andreas where you had Johnny Sindacco tied to the windshield of your car and then you had to drive all over doing all sorts of crazy shit to get him to talk.

Well I think I've rediscovered my creative spark for this story so until next time read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/

Oh and one more thing, while I'm on a roll check out my recently completed "Darkness Arises: Reborn" for all you Resident Evil fanatics out there!

(Damn, that's the first time ever anything has ever followed my "SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME" line…)


	36. Like a Knight On a Steel Horse

Chapter 36: Like a Knight on a Steel Horse

Artie rushed towards the Red Light District at full speed, dodging his way around several cars on the Eastwood Bridge. In the rearview mirror he could see Iceman's Patriot struggling to keep up behind him. He wanted to go it alone, but the gun runner insisted on tagging along, adamant about wanting to pay back his friend's kindness. There was no time to argue with him and he knew he could use the backup against a vicious outlaw motorcycle gang, so together they raced to save a damsel in distress.

He mentally pictured the bikers falling before his feet, looking over to the L85 assault rifle that came equipped with an M68 Aimpoint scope, compliments of Iceman. In addition to the rifle he was also equipped with a brand new Kevlar vest, more ammo for his Desert Eagle, an AA-12 assault shotgun with Frag-12 explosive shells, and a line of fragmentation grenades.

Night had fallen over the city and traffic had been more abundant than expected, yet the hitman wouldn't let that deter him from saving a woman he had grown attached to, cutting past an oil Tanker and then a Dragon Wagon at breakneck speed, Iceman's Patriot ramming into the latter as he attempted the same maneuver.

He remembered by heart where the Silver Dollar Saloon was located, having been there for a few drinks after vising Queen Sheba's Revue along with Zeke and Iceman. It had been a place known to be frequented by plenty of undesirables, but never had he thought the Children of Chaos would visit that kind of establishment, thinking it would be too upscale for a gang of roughneck bikers.

Part of him asked why he should risk sacrificing himself to save this particular woman, especially one he felt as if he still didn't completely know well enough. He still didn't think of her as an actual 'girlfriend,' but she was still someone he had grown to like and he knew it would be the right thing to do, having seen firsthand who outlaw bikers treated their women like property rather than as actual human beings, or worse.

_"I'm planning on getting the hell outta here once that blockade is lifted. No point in me getting attached to anybody in that sort of way," _Artie thought to himself, remembering how he had repeatedly brushed off Gino's suggestions of him signing up for Love-Meet to 'find that special someone.' Big words coming from someone who had only succeeded in getting a bunch of spam promoting 'male enhancement' products.

He came to a four way intersection and was about to speed through when he noticed a police cruiser pulling up alongside of him. Not wanting the trouble, he came to a halt and waited impatiently for traffic to pass. Iceman had come to a halt behind him and he could see the gun runner making gestures at him in his rearview mirror, letting him know that he was ready to go and fuck shit up. The man pounded away impatiently at his steering wheel and could be heard turning up his heavy metal music as a means of venting his built up aggression.

"C'mon god-fucking-damn it, I've got somebody to rescue!" he shouted as a semi passed through. He was practically hammering away at his own steering wheel as "Knock Me Down" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers blasted on Radio GX, pounding in unison with the drumbeats, doing whatever he could to distract himself as he waited.

When the light finally turned green he had to resist the urge to scream "Hallelujah" and stepped on the gas, speeding up when the cop car finally disappeared from sight.

"No turning back now," he muttered to himself, knowing she deserved better than what those bikers would have likely had in store for her.

Speeding down the streets as fast as he could without running anybody over, it was only a matter of time before he finally reached the Red Light District and began darting his head back and forth for any possible threats as he came within distance of the Silver Dollar Saloon, a building designed to look like an authentic Old Western saloon from the outside.

A graffiti-covered Gang Burrito was parked out in front of the aforementioned bar/whorehouse, surrounded by several different kinds of motorcycles. Two burly tattooed men stood guard near the opened backdoors while two more could be seen dragging two struggling prostitutes about and tossing them into the back. Gunshots rang out from inside and several patrons ran out of the building, followed closely by several more of the grungy leather-clad men, one of whom had Gladys over his shoulder.

"Let me go you fucking baboon!" Gladys hollered as she struggled with the overweight biker, a man with a salt and pepper beard. She eventually managed to free one of her hands and yanked hard on the man's braided ponytail.

"You bitch!" the man spat before grabbing her and throwing her hard against the van before he was stopped by one of his brothers.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Watch it man! The boss ain't gonna like his property all dinged up if you're gonna be all rough with her like that," the other biker spoke.

"I'll never be your property you fucking asshole!" she cried before spitting in his face. She continued with her struggle and was just about to be thrown into the back when she spotted a familiar Sentinel charging into view.

"Artie!" she blurted out before being tossed inside and having the doors slammed shut behind her.

The bikers heard her calling out his name and turned to see the sedan charging towards him.

"Fuck, must be her boyfriend or something," a skinny bald man with a weasel-like face spoke up.

"Yeah, well she's our property now!" the same overweight biker proclaimed as he withdrew a 40mm grenade launcher and took aim, "Let's see how you like this pretty boy!"

"Yeah, finders keepers!" the skinny biker cried out.

Artie saw the grenade launcher being pointed in his direction and his eyes widened.

"Fuck!" he hollered as he opened the door and threw himself out, hitting the pavement and rolling about as his unmanned car sped forth. From his distance he could hear the loud _'bloop'_ of the launcher firing and tried pushing himself back to his feet, but it was too late.

An explosion rang out and the hired gun was flung forward by the concussive blast, again hitting the ground hard. Iceman had finally caught up and saw his friend lying on the ground before him, slamming on his brakes and skidding the Patriot to a sideways halt to avoid running him over.

"Ah…fuck!" Artie grunted as he crawled along the ground, slowly opening his eyes, only to squeeze them shut again when he was nearly blinded by the bright fire burning before him, the fire that had once been his car.

"Motherfucker…I liked that car!" he grunted as he shoved himself back to his feet, regaining his balance with help from Iceman.

"Your car's the least of your worries right now pal," Iceman said raising his M-4 and firing upon the encroaching bikers, dropping one of them in a hail of screaming metal.

"Kill those sons of bitches!" another biker ordered and the remaining Children of Chaos opened fire simultaneously in a cacophony of light automatic pops and the deeper booms of discharging shotguns.

The gun runner had a point as Artie was forced to take cover behind a parked Cavalcade FXT and blindly fired with his rifle until he reached the rear end of the vehicle, bullets chipping away at the sturdy truck's surface the entire time as he tried to think of something.

"Ain't anywhere to run! You kill a brother, we kill you, simple as that!" a biker shouted.

"You're only delaying the inevitable, y'know that boy?" cried another.

"Quite a big word coming from a fucking grease monkey," Artie shouted back.

Another _'bloop' _sounded and the errand boy knew he was in trouble, forced to dive as the bikers continued firing away mercilessly when the truck exploded behind him. With no other cover to take, he leapt into the air firing his gun, managing to strike one of the Children in the lung and send the man convulsing to the pavement.

Before Artie could fully return to his feet, he was struck three times in the chest by one of the bikers, the bullets halted by his bulletproof vest, but still knocking the wind out of him. He managed to pull himself behind cover, this time behind an Oracle, still gasping for air and wincing from the throbs from where he was hit.

Across from him Iceman wasn't fairing much better, the Children pinning him down with a relentless volley that left him wondering if they had the entire stockpile of Fort Rushmore at their fingertips. It was tempting for him to pull out a grenade, but then he remembered the van was nearby and he didn't want to risk accidentally killing Gladys.

Artie raised his rifle and popped out, firing a few rounds into the gathered mob and managing to drop three of the bikers and also destroying one of their motorcycles before he was forced to reload.

"My baby!" one of the grubby men called out, "You're gonna fucking pay for that!" he snarled.

Before he could pull his rifle's bolt back, another _'bloop'_ sounded and the hired gun was forced to leap wherever he could as the grenade struck the Oracle he hid behind, sending him flying through the air yet again.

"Goddamn it," Artie gasped as he crawled along the tarmac, feeling the heat washing over his body. The fire had singed his clothes, but it was a small miracle he wasn't burnt more severely. It was also a miracle that no fragments of shrapnel had embedded themselves anywhere important. Aside from that he had suffered a few minor cuts and bruises.

What mattered though was that he was still alive and still able to kick some ass.

"Have you gone soft on me or something?" Iceman grunted, "Christ, you've spent more time sucking concrete than kicking ass."

"I never knew you to be much of a talker," Artie scoffed in reply, "We need to kill that fucker with the grenade launcher," he hissed as he watched the portly man load another canister.

Aside from the grenadier, there were six other Children left. Artie surmised they must have been having some kind of gathering before this mess, but still had to ask why they would be after Gladys of all people. For now, he had to focus on killing them.

Iceman nodded in reply and fired another volley in hopes of striking the aforementioned biker, only to succeed in grazing the man as his aim was thrown off by a stray round finding its way into his chest, stopped by his Kevlar vest.

Artie noticed his friend's predicament and fired a burst towards the amassed bikers, finding his own shots thrown off by a few stray rounds finding their way into his chest, but he had succeeded in disarming one of the bikers with a shot to the wrist.

_"Damn, I'm gonna need a new vest after this is over with," _he told himself before firing again, missing a biker who had taken cover behind his Wolfsbane. He noticed that their rate of fire was beginning to slacken. Perhaps they were either running low on ammo and being more conservative with their shots or were getting ready to take off.

Slapping a fresh clip into his rifle, Artie propped himself onto a nearby Idaho and used his rifle's scope to take aim on the husky biker. _"Nighty night fatso,"_ he thought while squeezing the trigger, sending a three shot burst into the man's chest and ending his menace once and for all.

"C'mon, let's quit fucking around and get outta here!" one of the bikers called out climbing into the Burrito's driver seat and taking off, leaving his five surviving colleagues to follow behind on their bikes.

"Sons of bitches," Artie grumbled as he fought off the fresh waves of pain still coursing through his chest and making his way over to an abandoned Revenant. "C'mon Iceman, we've gotta stop them!" he called out as he climbed on and started it up.

"Right behind you brother!" the gun runner called back climbing into his Patriot as some concerned patrons emerged from the Silver Dollar Saloon and watched the two men take off after the bikers.

_"Bastards aren't getting away so easy," _he thought as he turned up the radio's volume, currently set to Rock of Rushmore 89.5 and playing "Sweet Soul Sister" by The Cult.

Artie sped after the fleeing bikers, taking a sharp right turn onto a sidewalk and knocking over an overweight prostitute before making his way back onto the street. He withdrew his Desert Eagle and opened fire, but unfortunately the biker ahead of him was more skilled than expected and managed to dodge most of his shots. He fired again and the last shot grazed the man's side, yet he kept speeding forth as if nothing had happened.

The other bikers were aware they were being followed and withdrew machine pistols to return fire, scoring several hits on the errand boy's bike, but missing Artie himself. He was undeterred and continued firing, eventually hitting the same biker and sent him spilling to the concrete, only for him to be crushed beneath Iceman's wheels.

"Like I said you're not getting away so easily!" the errand boy called out as he continued after his brothers.

"Fuck you yuppie scum!" one of the bikers called out before tossing a Molotov cocktail over his shoulder, which Artie barely managed to avoid as the other Children peppered away with automatic fire, one of the bullets nicking his arm.

The hired gun raised his Desert Eagle and fired wildly towards his attackers until his clip ran dry.

"Well fuck me blind," he grumbled.

There wasn't much time to complain as he drew closer to the bikers and saw the closest man trying to take aim with a sawn-off shotgun and steer his cycle at the same time. "You're gonna die pretty boy and then we're all gonna fuck your girl 'til she bleeds like a stuck pig!" the man shouted.

Unfortunately for the biker, his attempt to multitask was causing him to slow down and it gave Artie the spare seconds he needed to pick up speed and ram the man's bike hard enough to send him tumbling off the back and land hard on his side, yet Iceman had passed him by already and wasn't able to turn him into a human speed bump. All wasn't lost though.

"Somebody's gonna bleed alright," Artie shouted back as he unclipped a frag grenade and tossed it over his shoulder. The grievously injured biker could only scream in terror as the explosive rolled towards him. The hitman ignored the following explosion and focused only on going after the remaining bikers and the van they were escorting.

The Gang Burrito maneuvered its way recklessly through traffic, smashing through any vehicle that stood in its way and running over any pedestrians unfortunate enough to be there. The intensity at which they moved caused the hired gun to wonder why Gladys could be so important to them that they would cause such mayhem just to get her to wherever they needed to be.

_"Just fucking focus on saving the lady goddamn it," _his mind screamed to him as the bikers came into sight and continued firing away at him and Iceman, most of their bullets striking the Patriot, but thankfully the lumbering vehicle had bulletproofed windows, assuring his friend was safe.

Artie was still moving at a fast pace and unable to reload his Desert Eagle while bullets flew all around him. It was by some strange act of God (or whatever was out there) they hadn't succeeded in popping his tires and he still charged forth as his enemies fired away. A warm sensation suddenly overcame the hired gun's upper arm and when he looked down his eyes widened. He had been shot dangerously close to his shoulder. Granted it was a flesh wound, but it was still of concern.

_"Not my first time being shot and it sure as hell probably won't be my last either," _he thought while continuing forth, moving around another Patriot to dodge some of the bullets fired upon him as they entered Hellcat-controlled territory. Some of the aforementioned tan-clad gang members were present and fired upon the intruding procession, but nobody was killed.

"You pricks are just gonna have to wait your turn," Artie grumbled to himself as he continued his pursuit of the fleeing bikers, plowing through an intersection and causing a cab to crash into some older guy riding on a Faggio scooter, the cab later finding itself flipped over when Iceman's Patriot connected with it.

Eventually they reached the Jansport district and the Burrito slammed its way through the parking lot of the Cluckin' Bell where Randy used to work, followed by his biker cohorts, the latter of whom plowed through a group of employees on their cigarette break, eliciting actual squawks from them as they lay dying.

"For God's sakes, somebody fucking kill those sons of a bitches!" the lead biker called out as they passed through Nixon Park.

"What the fuck do you think we're trying to do?" another called back, not even bothering to stop for a homeless child chasing after a stray cat with a baseball bat.

The chase would eventually find its way to the nearby Steel Junction district, which was its usual dead self, the numerous drunken bums stumbling about seemingly oblivious to the chaos taking place right under their noses.

"Don't worry, we're close!" Artie heard one of the bikers calling out and he wondered what they were talking about.

He would soon get his answer as the Burrito and bikers took a left hand turn into the parking lot of a rundown joint called the Sleepin' Eazy Suites, its neon sign one of few functioning in the entire district, albeit with several of its lights burnt out so it looked like it read _'Sleazy Sites.'_

In the parking lot there were several more motorcycles parked and he knew this could only mean one thing.

"We've got company boys! Kill those motherfuckers!" he heard one of the bikers calling out as the man leapt off his bike and began firing upon his pursuers with his machine pistol.

"End of the road pretty boy!" another called out as the hitman was forced to ditch the Revenant and take cover behind a crumbling fence, ducking low to the ground as the bullets tore through the weathered wood.

"Hey buddy…ya' gots any spare change?" a voice slurred next to him and almost making him jump.

It belonged to that of a shaggy-haired man who wore nothing but a pair of ratty bib overalls, looking much more like he belonged in the boondocks than in some urban ghetto.

"I needs me some money…" the man slurred, holding up an empty bottle of Commander Kidd spiced rum.

"Score," Artie said grabbing the man under his arms and hoisting him back to his feet.

"Uh…hey…um…where we going?" the man drunkenly mumbled.

Artie didn't bother to answer as he shoved the man in front of him and made his way back onto the street, where Iceman had taken cover behind his Patriot and was exchanging fire with the Children who had emerged from their hotel rooms. He pushed his way into the onslaught, his human shield quickly turned to Swiss cheese by a merciless salvo, yet it gave him an opening to drop one of the bikers with rounds to his chest and neck areas before hitting a man several times, but not killing him, his screams of pain filling the nighttime air.

"Sons of bitches! We'll show you what Chaos is all about!" one of the remaining bikers shouted before withdrawing a Molotov cocktail and preparing to chuck it in Artie's direction.

_"Fuck, not another one of those!" _he thought to himself as he prepared to open fire, but thankfully Iceman had beaten him to the punch, striking the man in his groin and abdomen, causing him to drop the explosive and set himself ablaze. Furthermore, he was near his motorcycle and he fell backwards against it, igniting the gas tank and creating a small explosion that sent one of his buddies flying backward.

Artie looked over to the Burrito and saw both its doors had been opened, the ladies nowhere in sight.

"Time to end this," he whispered to himself looking over to Iceman, who seemed to be handling himself pretty well, aside from the biker who was sneaking up on him from the catwalk above. Raising his rifle, Artie fired off another burst that sent the burly man tumbling over the railing and landing hard on top of a parked Streetfighter.

"I'm going in," the hitman shouted to his friend and charged towards the front entrance, only to be confronted by another grungy man with a sawed-off shotgun. He quickly raised his rifle and shot it out of the man's hand, severely mangling his right arm in the process.

"It ain't over you piece of shit! You hear me? It ain't over!" the man screamed defiantly before Artie fired a burst into his face.

"It is for you, asshole," the hitman spat before kicking open the front door and finding himself in a rancid lobby that likely hadn't been cleaned since the Stone Age.

Right away Artie was confronted by two more Children who had been blasting heavy metal and drinking a few beers. Quickly drawing his assault shotgun he cut down both men before they could get their guns on the coffee table at the other side of the room.

"Shit, we've got company boys!" another voice shouted and one of the doors came flying open, a burly biker stepping into view with a pump-action shotgun. He was quickly cut down by a blast from the hitman's assault shotgun, literally finding himself disemboweled and slowly bleeding out all over the already heavily-stained carpeting.

The creaking of an opening door came from behind Artie, prompting him to instinctively throw himself over the front counter, landing next to the motel's whimpering owner, who laid curled in a fetal position with a yellow spot the size of Lake Bitchagan beneath him. The hired gun shot him a death glare before the counter's wooden surface exploded above him.

"You're gonna pay kid!" the biker called out before firing with the vigor of a ravenous animal, showering the hiding gunman in wooden fragments.

There was no time to fuck around. Artie needed to find Gladys and get the hell out of there. Reaching for the line of grenades, he quickly plucked another one, pulled the pin and chucked it over the counter.

"Oh sh-"

A deafening boom filled the air, followed by the sweltering heat and the concussive force. Smoke filled the air, leaving the hitman blinded and gasping for air, but not able to stay in one place for too long. He readied his shotgun and peered around the shredded corner and found to his relief that the biker was dead, along with most of the wall blown apart behind him and another biker who had been in a bathroom stall was also impacted by the blast.

Pushing himself back to his feet, the hitman finally had time to reload his Desert Eagle and proceeded down the corridor behind him, leaving the frightened owner alone and to the wolves.

He dashed down the hall and came to a corner. Footsteps were heard coming towards him and he shot his arm out prepared to blind fire, only to catch himself when he heard a woman's screams. He peered around to find a half-naked woman running towards him.

"Get back here you-" a gruff voice called out as a biker came stumbling out of a nearby room with his jeans still around his ankles, only to nearly trip over them when he noticed the pissed off Italian standing before him with an automatic shotgun in his hands. Without hesitation, Artie fired a barrage into the man's chest and sent him tumbling hard against the wall behind him.

Artie looked down and recognized the frightened woman as one of the prostitutes who had been kidnapped along with Gladys. It was a surefire sign he had to be getting warmer.

"Run to safety!" he ordered.

"Oh thank god," the woman blurted out before taking heed to his words.

With an innocent bystander out of the way he resumed his hunt, kicking down several doors to find Gladys, but only succeeding in finding rooms with foul smelling beds, heavily-stained sheets and pillows that were flatter than a 10 year old girl's chest, truly the kind of place a person would only go if they had come down to their last dollar, but still no signs of Gladys.

He was approaching the door leading to the second floor stairwell when suddenly the door came open and he was met by a guy scrambling for his AK-47. Artie wasted no time with any martial arts-style takedowns and put him down with a single round to the chest before stepping over his lifeless corpse and ascending the stairs.

"Motherfucker die," a voice screamed from his left and Artie was rattled by a table being overturned, followed by a balding biker gunning for him with his MAC-10.

"The Lord forgives, the Children don't!" another voice called out as another AK-47 toting biker stepped in. Artie wanted to return fire, but couldn't due to their respective guns rapid fire rates. It was tempting to pull out a grenade, but he didn't want to risk damaging the building's likely weakened structural integrity, nor risk setting a fire while Gladys could be nearby.

"Give it up bitch boy and we might make it fast for ya'!" the second biker chuckled while his buddy laughed like a hyena the entire time.

Cappellis never gave up in the past and Artie certainly wasn't about to start a tradition out of it. He loaded some Frag-12 rounds into his shotgun and fired some towards the two bikers in an effort to make them stand down, his rounds punching craters into the walls and ceiling. He then saw a sprinkler fixture and fired into it hoping it still worked. Sure enough it still did and the closest biker found himself getting a long overdue shower, giving him the much needed room to fire an explosive burst into the man's chest, leaving a small crater as he fell to the floor with a sick thud.

The other biker was nowhere to be found and Artie listened for more signs of activity before carefully making his way along the wall and was about to round a corner, just when the wall suddenly exploded behind him.

He threw his arms up on instinct and in the process dropped his shotgun, caught by surprise as a pair of meaty hands wrapped around his throat and he was thrown across the hall, connecting face first with another door. Left wobbling following the blow, he was grabbed from behind and placed in a chokehold.

"Give it up pretty boy, you and your girlfriend are gonna be dead when this is over with! Nobody crosses the Children of Chaos and lives!" the biker snickered as he shoved Artie into the wall hard enough to leave cracks. With another hard heave Artie found himself tossed backwards onto a ratty floor.

The same burly, gray-haired biker stood over him now armed with a switchblade, collapsing to his knees and attempting to bury the blade in his face. Artie brought his arm up and felt a sharp pain as the knife drove into it, the mad biker twisting it to increase the pain. He was already fatigued from the stress of battle and weakened by his injuries, but he managed to shoot his other hand up and get a firm grip on his assailant's wrist, trying to push him back and prevent any further damage.

"You got some spunk in you little boy, but that ain't gonna be good enough," the biker hissed through gritted teeth, his breath reeking of alcohol and chewing tobacco, "I'm gonna have fun stickin' you hard," he said pulling the knife out of Artie's forearm before raising it high above his head again.

Summoning up his inner strength, Artie shot his fist up and caught the guy square in the mouth and finally managed to push him off. He rose to his feet and went for a kick to the man's kneecap before throwing him against the wall and head butting him hard in his nose before driving a knee into his groin.

"A Cappelli never gives up," Artie whispered to the man before shoving him backwards through the nearest door. His opponent defeated, he leveled his gun and fired a round into the man's face.

_"Now where can she be?" _the hired gun asked himself looking down the corridor at all the plain brown doors. In typical Children fashion, heavy metal music was blasting at maximum volume, muting out any other sounds that could give away her location.

Walking towards the nearest door he kicked it in, only to find himself in another ratty room where a frightened dark-haired woman laid on a roach-infested mattress, clad in nothing but a thong and one of the bikers' vests, perhaps one of their girlfriends. Whoever she was, she didn't seem interested in fighting him.

"Get the hell outta here!" Artie screamed at the woman and she complied, rushing past him with a blanket wrapped around her body.

Making his way back into the hall he then approached the next door and kicked it open, finding another empty room littered with empty alcohol bottles, food wrappers, discarded clothing and other miscellaneous junk. He did however find a duffel bag resting on the bed and went over to inspect it, his eyes widening as he opened it.

There were all sorts of small bills inside, likely the profits from drug sales and other illegal activities. Exactly how much was in there he didn't know and didn't have time to count it. Whatever the case, it was still money and would be good compensation for him being called out of the blue like this.

A deep pain to the back of his shoulder halted his discovery and he found himself thrown forward onto the bed.

"Time to die buddy boy," a raspy voice came from behind.

Artie fell to the floor just in time to avoid a second strike from the baseball bat his assailant had been carrying and he turned around to see the man standing tall over him. His shoulder was hurting like a bitch, but he couldn't allow that to slow him down as the man drew back for another grand slam, almost striking him head on with a blow that instead shattered the lamp above him. Out of desperation he shot his leg out and caught the biker in his shin, but he still kept coming at him and was going for another strike when a gunshot rang out from behind, sending him falling to the floor.

"Who's the damsel in distress here? Gladys or you?" the hearty tone of Iceman called out.

"Ha ha, save the comedy for later 'roid monkey," Artie grunted as his friend came over to help him back to his feet, a strangled cry of pain escaping his lips as he was helped back to his feet.

"Whoa, sorry 'bout that dude," Iceman apologized, but was cut off.

"Worry about that later. We've gotta find Gladys," Artie grunted, stopping to massage his throbbing shoulder for a bit before scooping up his gun, "Take that bag with you while you're at it. You'll like what's inside, trust me."

"Get back here you bitch!" another gruff voice called out, catching both men's attention.

They returned to the corridor to find another woman fleeing from a gangly biker, the other woman who was captured along with Gladys, yet no sign of the woman they were looking for. Before the biker could react, he was cut down in a hail of gunfire, saving the nameless woman from the horrific fate that would have likely befallen her.

With that threat out of the way, the two men decided to head straight to the door where the music was coming from, Artie readying his Desert Eagle and Iceman going for his Colt Anaconda. Looking over to his friend, the hired gun mentally counted down to three and with a nod, both men kicked the door down at once.

"Artie, help me!" Gladys' voice called out.

They were in a room slightly larger than the others, where the ex-hooker had been tied down to a bed with most of her clothes ripped away. Standing over her was a tall blond-haired man in his boxers and in the other corner of the room was another man with long curly black hair in a similar state of undress.

"Son of a bitch!" the blond-haired man called out rushing towards the nearby dresser in an attempt to grab his sawed-off shotgun, but Artie was quicker and shot the man three times.

"Malcolm!" the other man cried reaching for a nearby baseball bat, but he too would be dropped by a hail of gunfire as Iceman was there to cover his friend.

With the last two Children dealt with, Artie ran over and ripped the radio from the wall and tossed it across the room, smashing it to tiny pieces and leaving them in relative silence aside from Gladys' frightened whimpers. Running over to the mattress, he quickly ripped away her restraints and helped her into a sitting position.

"Oh my god! Thank you so much Artie!" she cried throwing her arms around him and burying her face into his chest, "I thought they were going to kill me!"

The errand boy gently pushed her away and looked down to her state of undress and then over to the fallen bikers. "They didn't, did they?" he asked turning to face her again.

"No…" she trailed off bursting into tears, "…they were going to when you showed up…like they were going to 'relive the good old days' they said…"

Hearing those words made Artie pull her close and gently stroke her long hair, "Well they're never going to hurt you ever again. You can count on that."

Before he could say any more the wail of a police siren called out from a distance.

"I hate to break up your happy little reunion, but we need to get the fuck outta here now!" Iceman called out.

Artie made his way back into the hall and took a spot next to his friend, looking out into the courtyard to see an entire platoon of police cruisers showing up along with a N.O.O.S.E. Enforcer and a Maverick circling overhead.

"Oh shit, we can't go out there! They'll kill us!" Gladys protested as she scrambled back into her clothes.

_"This is the R.C.P.D., throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up! Failure to comply will result in the use of lethal force!" _a cop shouted through a megaphone.

"What are you going to do? You can't just go out there and go toe to toe with all those flatfoots!" Gladys gasped in horror.

Iceman looked over to Artie and furrowed his brow, "Damn you to hell for making me do this."

Artie was perplexed by his friend's words and kept his pistol ready in case the man was going to betray him. Instead, the gun runner reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He quickly dialed a number and got away from the window.

A deafening boom came from outside and the entire building's rickety foundation was shook.

"What the fuck?" Artie grunted as he looked out the window to see a smoldering pyre where Iceman's customized Patriot had swerved to a halt. The explosion had swallowed up the nearby squad cars and claimed the lives of several officers in the process; the survivors sent scrambling for cover.

"What, you've never seen a whole shit ton of C-4 get detonated?" the weapons dealer snapped, "You have any idea how much it's gonna cost me to get another customized Patriot like that?"

"I think right now we should be worried about getting the hell outta here," Artie retorted, "Any ideas how we're gonna get the fuck outta here since you just took out our ride?"

"We're just gonna have to 'improvise,'" Iceman replied leading them down the hall, "I've been here before. There's a backdoor into a nearby alley, should be a ride there, guy who owns this place gets all sorts of 'unique' guests."

The trio charged down the corridor, Artie stopping briefly to pick the Sig Sauer P226 from a dead biker and give it to Gladys, who reluctantly accepted it, smelling the stench of an accursed freak of nature. She had wanted to horribly desecrate all of their corpses in the worst possible way for what they had tried doing to her, but there would be no time for that.

"Quick, take that next left!" Iceman pointed as they prepared to round the corner, only to be halted as a door suddenly flew open behind them, followed by a gunshot and Artie wincing, a chunk of flesh torn from his lower left leg.

Gladys spun around to find a rat-faced biker having gotten the jump on them, a smoking Glock-17 in his hands. Wasting no time she raised her gun and fired four rounds into the weasel's chest.

"And stay the fuck down!" she spat to the freshly deceased man before reaching down to help up Artie, "How's your leg?"

"It's bleeding like a bitch, but I'll make it. He just grazed me," Artie grunted bracing himself against a nearby wall.

"We can't take you to a hospital. They'll have cops there looking for you," she said lending a shoulder to support him, "We can take you back to my place. I'll fix your wounds for you like I did last time."

"Will you two hurry the fuck up?" Iceman called from the bottom of the stairs, "I've got us a ride outta here!"

The duo carefully made their way down the stairs and to the back alley, where Iceman had managed to hotwire a ratty old Greenwood. Gladys wasted no time climbing into the backseat, but before Artie could make his way in he was distracted by more footsteps coming from behind.

"Shit, it's him!" a voice called out, belonging to another Children of Chaos member who had been running from the cops with two of his brothers.

"I don't have time for this shit," the hitman spat raising his L85 and firing a salvo of lead upon the approaching bikers, killing two and leaving one injured as evidenced by his screams of pain. There was no time left to finish him and Artie pulled himself into the backseat. "Drive!"

"Heh, you're the boss," Iceman sarcastically grumbled, switching the car's radio over to 94.3, now playing "Damien" by Iced Earth.

XXXXX

"Ahhh!" Artie cried out gripping onto the kitchen table.

"Heh, and I thought all you 'big badass hired gun types' were supposed to be tough," Gladys laughed as she applied alcohol to the wound on Artie's left leg.

She had already treated the wound to his arm and even that had been like pulling teeth, not even her warm kisses could soothe the pain raging throughout his body.

"Alright, I'm almost done," the ex-hooker said pulling out a roll of bandaging and some gauze pads, applying more antiseptics to his leg wound before applying the gauze and then wrapping the bandages around his leg. "Okay done. Not exactly good as new, but it's the best I can do for now."

"At least until I can get over to that mob doctor Boomer referred me to," Artie replied as he sat up in his chair.

They were in Gladys' kitchen and the hired gun was stripped down to his boxers as his wounds were tended to. Once she was done he had wanted to put his clothes back on, but she wouldn't allow him seeing as how he probably wouldn't be making it home tonight without a car. It was late and she was preparing him a sandwich.

"So…" Artie trailed, not knowing if there would be any right way to ask the kind of questions he wanted to. "So…what was that all about with those bikers coming after you like that?"

As expected, Gladys did not reply right away and looked off to the side, knowing the discussion would soon come down to this. She swallowed heavily before speaking, knowing it would be difficult even for someone she knew she could open up to.

"I have a history with the Children of Chaos…one I'm not very proud of," she said taking a couple of deep breaths before continuing. "I used to date one of their enforcers. His name was Marshall, the guys called him 'Big Mar.' Despite what he did for a living, he really wasn't like the rest of them. He was very sweet, faithful and down to earth, always treated me well. How he ended up with those guys I honestly have no idea."

Gladys again paused before continuing, "His brother was also in the group and he was jealous of him having such a great woman in his life and most of the guys were worried he was going to leave the club because of me. They wouldn't stand for that…so his own brother killed him…his own brother! He shot him dead in cold blood and kept me as his 'prize.'"

Artie listened intently as the woman spilled her guts to him. Deep down he wondered if he should change the subject, yet he stopped himself knowing this could be therapeutic for her and he let her continue.

"Jesse was nothing like his brother. He was a drunken, boorish brute who raped me and beat me God knows how many times," she choked out, but forced herself to continue. "He would force me to do drugs with him and would fuck other women right in front of me every chance he had, treating me like I was his fucking slave. He never cared about me; he just viewed me as a trophy to show the guys he had one upped his brother. I had to thank God that this didn't last for long."

"What happened then…if I may ask?" the errand boy spoke up, unsure of whether or not he was making the right move.

"The Luciferian Brotherhood, the sworn enemies of the Children, they killed him. He killed one of their brothers, so they tracked him down and shot him up, even set his bike on fire while he was still on it. Forgive me if I sound cold-hearted for saying this, but I never felt so happy to have someone die," Gladys spoke, a bitter smile creeping across her features.

"Indeed he sounded like a prick and got what he had coming to him," Artie replied and the woman nodded in unison with him as he gently patted her hand.

"But it didn't end there. I was still the 'property' of the Children and still had to do whatever they said and all along I've been working for them. I'm sorry I didn't tell you this sooner, but I've been with them all along. In exchange for the work I do for them, they protected me from anybody else," she explained motioning to their current surroundings.

"So why did they kidnap you?" Artie demanded.

Another pause followed before she spoke up, "Because I told them I was leaving."

"And what finally gave you the strength to leave them?" he asked.

"You did," Gladys replied bluntly, "After that talk you and I had a while back…it really left me thinking, with what you said about Kenna trying to turn her life around. I figured if she can do it, then why can't I? I knew the Children wouldn't take it well, but it had to be done. I realized I couldn't keep living my life like this."

Artie was floored by what he had just heard. He couldn't believe a woman was trying to turn her life around because of him of all people, more so he found it hard to believe he could ever have such an impact upon a person.

_"Christ, I'm a fucking mob cleaner, not a motivational speaker. How could I ever motivate anybody else to 'better themselves?" _he thought to himself as he looked up and noticed Gladys staring at him intently, waiting for him to speak.

"Wow…I really don't know what to say to that…but I must say it's truly a good thing that you're going to attempt to better yourself. I truly feel honored that you would credit me with such betterment for your life," Artie replied, unsure of whether or not he was spewing a load of crap.

"Well you did and when the blockade is lifted I've decided that I'm getting the hell out of this city once and for all…and if it's not asking for too much, I'd really like to come along with you," the young woman spoke, stopping herself abruptly and clasping her hands together, again looking away in embarrassment.

_ "Damn, has this woman fallen in love with me already?" _the errand boy asked himself as he noticed the intense stare in her emerald eyes when she again dared to look at him. It was now his turn to take a couple of deep breaths before speaking.

"Wow…well I really don't know what to say…again, I mean you and I haven't known each other for very long…" Artie stammered before being cut off by Gladys.

"I mean it Artie. I want us to run away together once we're able to get the hell out of here," the ex-hooker spoke before reaching over and pulling him close, kissing him passionately much like she had done the last time he was over, which eventually led to them having sex.

_"Oh man…now I really don't know what else to say," _Artie thought to himself as Gladys continued forcing herself upon him, eventually removing her top and pulling him closer.

For now he would just lay back and enjoy the moment.

Author's Note: And so ends what would have been an "out of the blue" mission like the "Bleeding Out," "The Holland Play" and "Blood Brothers" missions from GTA4. I figured I didn't want to do too much of featuring Randy's special ability of him being able to hack into the R.C.P.D. database and being able to erase your wanted level, so I redid the ending from the original.

Commander Kidd Spiced Rum is supposed to be a spoof of Captain Morgan spiced rum, another allusion to a real-life pirate, in this case William Kidd.

Well I think that's everything for now so until next time read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	37. Blown Dried

Chapter 37: Blown Dried

_RING! RING! RING!_

The cell phone's ringing reverberated in the bedroom, causing Artie to slowly stir awake. Blinking the crust out of his eyes he gently pushed Gladys off of him and reached over to the nightstand where his phone rested. With a labored grunt he launched himself over and snatched it, struggling to open it at first in his half-asleep state.

"Hello?" he rasped, coughing loudly to clear his throat.

_"Artie, it's Zeke, thank god I've managed to get through to you," _the bartender spoke from the other end, his voice a half-whisper, _"For a second there I was thinking you would've been in the middle of banging a hooker or something."_

The hired gun furrowed his brow at the younger man's words, but kept his cool when he replied, "Oh hey Zeke, yeah I'm still among the living. What's up?"

_"You need to get over to The Little Black Book right away. Johnny is over here and he wants to talk to you," _Zeke replied, his voice taking a nervous edge as raucous laughter sounded in the background, coming from another familiar voice. It shot him fully awake and he struggled to maintain his composure upon hearing it.

"What the hell does that rat bastard want?" Artie demanded, stirring Gladys awake.

_"I don't know. He hasn't told me anything, then again why would I want to talk to him if I could help it anyway?" _Zeke replied.

"Heh, you got me there," Artie replied throwing his feet onto the floor.

_"Yeah, anyways you'd better get your ass over here pronto before Johnny has his boys shooting this place up," _Zeke spoke as more laughter rang out in the background.

"Alright, I'm heading over now," the Italian-American replied before hanging up.

"Who was that Artie?" Gladys asked now sitting up in bed, her tone tired as she rubbed her eyes open.

"That was Zeke. I'm sorry, but I have to go. Urgent business to attend to," Artie replied pulling on his boxers and then reaching down for his shirt.

Gladys could tell by the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes that he was serious. She quickly stood up and walked over to him and pulled him close, placing a hand on his chest. "Well be safe," she said before planting a quick kiss on his lips.

"I will, don't worry," Artie said pulling on the rest of his clothes and gathering everything else he needed before making his way out the front door.

Stepping out into the daytime air he was hit by a gentle breeze and saw there weren't many people or cars out on the street. He looked down to his cell phone's clock to see that it was almost high noon, most people in work by now. A passing squad car deterred him from running over and hijacking a Feltzer that had come to a stop in front of the Screw-It Center hardware store. Even though he could probably afford it, it was still a painful thought for him to have to buy a new car following the destruction of his Sentinel, a car he had become quite accustomed to.

Pulling out his Whiz he went through the list of contacts until he came to Freeman Cabs and he speed dialed the number.

_"Hello, Freeman Cabs, this is Trudy speaking. How many I help you today?" _the receptionist's nasally tone called out.

"Trudy, it's Artie Cappelli. I need you to send a cab over to 1147 Claremont in Horgate," he spoke.

_"Ah yes, no problem Mr. C.," _Trudy spoke enthusiastically from the other end, _"Mr. Freeman told me to ensure that any cab rides for you in the future are to be free of charge after all the hard work you've done for him."_

"Well that makes my day a little easier. Tell him I said thank you," Artie replied.

_"No problem. Esteban is in the area, I'll send him over right away," _Trudy replied before hanging up.

Artie knew he was going to be waiting for a few minutes, so he went over to a nearby cart where the vendor was selling bags of warm nuts and then over to a newspaper stand to buy a copy of 'The Daily Blowhard' and he sat down on a bench to read through the headlines.

The only noteworthy story he had happened across thus far was in the 'National' section, where legendary porn star Ron Jeremy revealed his plans to run for President of the United States in the upcoming 2016 elections. The headline brought a chuckle to the hitman, thinking that for once maybe he could make politics bearable.

_"Wonder how many interns he's gonna be lying about sleeping with in press conferences," _Artie thought to himself as a Freeman Cab pulled up and he was met by a Puerto Rican man in a puffy Rushmore City Statesmen jacket.

"Where to ese?" the man asked.

"Take me to The Little Black Book over in Camden Heights, and step on it," Artie demanded.

"Whatever you say," the driver replied as he turned up the Fiesta 103 station and began singing along with some Spanish-language song.

Fortunately there wasn't much traffic on the ride over to Camden Heights and he was dropped off at his cousin's bar, where a black Schafter was parked out front. The site of the accursed car made his blood boil, but he had again somehow managed to keep his cool and he turned to face the cabbie.

"Don't worry bro, you're free to go. Boss' orders," Esteban said.

Even through all the rage he harbored towards Johnny Sneed, the hitman still found some pangs of generosity and reached into his wallet to pull out both a 10 and 20 dollar bill and handed them to the young man, "Take it anyway. Do whatever helps you survive in this dump."

"Really? Wow, thanks," the young cabbie said accepting the money, albeit reluctantly.

The hitman turned on his heel and pushed his way inside, where he immediately spotted Zeke manning his usual post behind the counter, shuddering nervously. Towards the back two black-suited men were engaged in a game of pool while a third stood guard near one of the booths. Loud retching from the bathroom also indicated Pukin' Pete's presence.

With a nod to Zeke, Artie made his way over to the booth where the third man stood guard, finding Gino and Johnny sitting together in the middle of a meal.

"…uh yeah, that doesn't sound like a bad idea at all!" Gino nervously laughed before shoving half a cheeseburger into his mouth and taking a big bite before taking notice of his cousin, "Oh hey! Artie! Artie!" he shouted, spitting bits of meat, cheese and ketchup all over his cheap sport coat, "How ya' doin' Cuz? C'mon over and grab yourself a seat!"

Johnny looked over and smiled venomously towards the errand boy, "Arthur Cappelli, it's very nice to see you again," he said before returning his attention to Gino, "If you'll excuse us, your cousin and I have very important business to discuss. Now get your fat ass outta here!" he snapped waving him away.

"S-Sure thing!" Gino squeaked as he climbed out of the booth, but not without grabbing handfuls of French fries. It was here Artie finally took notice of the bandages still covering his face after his beating from a few days earlier.

"Go ahead, take a seat," Johnny said patting the spot across from him, "It's been awhile since you and I have had the chance to sit down and enjoy a normal discussion, hasn't it?"

"Whatever," Artie grunted as he reluctantly took a seat across from the slimy loan shark, "What the hell are you doing here anyway? I thought you promised you'd leave my cousin alone."

Johnny casually chuckled, "You seem to be suffering from a case of memory loss my friend. I only promised that I wouldn't touch your cousin, but I didn't say anything about not leaving him alone. Do I look like I've touched him at all?" he asked, raising his hands and wiggling his fingers mockingly.

"Let's just get to the fucking chase. Why did you want to see me?" Artie demanded his patience at its end.

"If you insist," Johnny said leaning towards him and clasping his hands together, "Some gooks that run a sweat shop over in the Harbor district have decided to stop paying their monthly tribute. Now I don't know when they finally decided to grow a pair of balls, no matter how tiny they might be, but as a businessman I cannot stand for that."

"There's obviously a lot of things you can't stand for," Artie replied stealing a quick glance to the bar, where Gino sat downing a full bottle of Mack Samuels whisky.

Johnny shrugged off the comment and continued, "Well I've had enough of this shit. I'm gonna show those swamp rats what happens when they don't pay up, more specifically, _you're_ going to show them what happens when they don't pay up," he said pointing to Artie.

Artie could only sigh heavily, "Alright, what do you want me to do now almighty sir?" he asked, the 'almighty sir' part dripping with sarcasm.

"There's a garbage truck over at the waste disposal facility in Jansport. One of the boss' boys has it rigged with an entire shit ton of C-4. Those gooks know that I'm onto them and they won't open their gates for me or any of my boys, but they will open them for a Trashmaster. Drive it on in and park it between the gas canisters located behind the building and then get the hell outta there. You gotta be careful, it's very sensitive and the slightest bump could set it off."

Artie looked at him almost incredulously, "You're actually warning me about something that could go wrong? Wow, that's new for you."

"Nah, I just really wanna see some gooks get blown to bits," Johnny replied.

"Great, just what I needed to hear," Artie replied with a roll of his eyes, just as the storage room door came open a crack.

"Are they gone yet?" Randy whimpered stepping halfway out, only to stop when he saw Johnny and his goons still there. Letting out a girlish shriek, he quickly disappeared back into the storage room and locked the door behind him, prompting another shudder from Zeke.

"Well what the fuck are you waiting for? Christmas? Get your ass in gear! Vamos!" Johnny ordered clapping his hands.

"Sure thing bub," Artie replied rising to his feet and leaned closer to Johnny one last time, "You just stick true to your word of not harming my cousin or my friends!"

With those words Artie looked over to Zeke and Gino, giving them an assuring nod before making his way outside.

Right away he spotted a middle-aged man climbing into an Intruder sedan and he waited for an Alphamail to drive past before running up behind the man, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and slamming his head into the side of his vehicle before tossing his unconscious form aside. Pulling himself inside, he quickly switched the car on and sped away down the street.

He blew through the stoplight and caused a Borgnine Cab to go flying head on into a Redcoat Burrito. There would likely be hell to pay on behalf of the rival cabbie, but Artie didn't care, knowing they could kill each other for all he knew and at the end of the day he would go home and sleep like a baby.

The radio was currently in the middle of a broadcast from Weazel News, giving him another incentive for speeding up.

_"In other news, it has been reported that the no fly zone established over Rushmore City will be temporarily lifted later on today as teen pop sensation Dustin Beaver makes a stop in town. What brings him to such a crime-ridden cesspool remains unknown at this time, except that there will be a spike in suicides amongst teenage girls when he refuses to impregnate them and allow them to bring more worthless, superficial piss ants into the world-"_

Artie switched the channel over to Rock of Rushmore 89.5, currently playing "Don't Come around Here No More" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, expressing his feelings towards Johnny.

_"God I can't wait until I never have to see that filthy rat bastard ever again," _Artie thought to himself as he passed the nearby Byway restaurant and was contemplating stopping to order a Big Willy since he hadn't eaten anything yet, but figured he should stick to the mission for the time being, knowing Johnny probably wouldn't even bother to bitch him out and instead blast his cousin where he stood.

It wasn't long before he reached the Jansport district and right away he was seeing the Hellcats out in full force. Whenever they were out and about like this he knew trouble was sure to be nearby and it kept him on his toes as he passed Rollio Records, seeing a quartet of them standing out front smoking weed and having a few beers, their weapons left out in the open like they owned the place.

They were punks who needed to be put in their place, but for now that would have to wait as Artie came to the disposal facility, right next door to the recycling center. The aforementioned Trashmaster was waiting for him in the loading dock area as some sanitation workers casually stood off to the side on their cigarette break. Ditching the Intruder, he ran over and climbed into the garbage truck, switching the radio over to 94.3 CSKD, which was just starting up "Angel of Death" by Slayer.

_"Now to get this over with," _he thought to himself as he looked down and found another sticky note from Johnny, this one containing a number he was to dial on his cell phone that would detonate the explosives. Memorizing the note, he shifted the big truck into drive and approached the gate, coming to a blinding halt as a blind man stumbled into view, nervously feeling around with his white cane. Not wanting to draw attention from the authorities, he allowed the man to pass before pulling into traffic and making his way towards the nearest intersection, only to halt once again as he heard the rattle of automatic fire and the roar of motorcycle engines.

He looked over to see some of the mobilized Hellcats scurrying behind whatever cover they could find as some members of the Luciferian Brotherhood came riding into view, firing upon their tan-clad adversaries with machine pistols and AK-47s.

_"Johnny told me the slightest bump could set this thing off. Crap, now I gotta find another way," _he thought backing the truck up. One of the Hellcats overheard the beeping as he backed up and ran over to him, leaping up and trying to pry the door open.

"Fuck off asshole!" the errand boy screamed, swerving in an attempt to shake the gang member off, but the young man held on tight. With no time to fool around he was forced to raise his Beretta and fired a shot through the window and into the man's face.

"Fucking Hellcat bastards!" he spat returning his attention to the road. Due to the narrow street he was on, it took some time before he was finally able to turn the Trashmaster around and move it down a less populated side street before he was en route to the Harbor district.

It wasn't much of a drive and Artie moved about to find a majority of the locals going about their daily routines, the sight of a garbage truck nothing new to them. He would have to slow down for a few larger trucks moving around and a couple of road construction crews in the middle of repairing potholes before he got closer to some of the factories and eventually found the building he was seeking.

The Me Me Qau Garment Factory was a lone teal-colored building surrounded by a 15 foot high concrete wall and at the front, the gate Johnny mentioned.

Artie slowly pulled up to the front gate and waited patiently for the guard to open it, but as soon as he pulled in his jaw would drop.

Parked in front of the building were two Yardie Lobos and a Huntley Sport.

He was aghast.

"What the fuck are those bastards doing here?" he whispered to himself as two Yardies were approached by a short Laotian man with a briefcase in hand, giving it to one of the thugs.

_"Could they be paying protection money to the Yardies instead?" _he asked himself as he continued towards the back of the building and found the two large gas canisters.

Nevertheless he still had a mission to carry out and carefully maneuvered the large vehicle between the two steel canisters before climbing out and looking around for any possible Yardies that could be standing guard.

"Now to get the hell outta here," he whispered while searching for a way out, knowing he would have to improvise as the front gate would be suicide. _"Now think damn it!"_

The wall surrounding the building was too high for him to scale, even with the aid of a dumpster and one of the company-owned trucks would have drawn too much attention. His only other option would probably be to lure one of the workers outside, kill him, and then take his uniform.

_"Doubt I'd make a believable Asian. Once again, thank you Johnny. Fucking asshole," _he thought bitterly.

Sure enough, a lone man emerged from the back door clad in a heavily-stained white jumper and was lighting up a cigarette. Artie took cover behind a nearby dumpster and looked around for anything of use and smiled as he found a discarded brick lying amongst a bunch of stubbed out marijuana joints and emptied beer cans.

_"Now just be a good sport and stand still," _Artie told himself as he crept towards the smoking worker. He was just inches from bashing the man's head in when the back door opened and another worker stepped into view and shouted something to his co-worker.

It was too late as Artie's hand shot forward and the man turned his head just in time to take a brick to the side of his face.

"Son of a bitch!" the errand boy spat turning to face the other worker, who by now was thrashing his arms and shouting hysterically in his native tongue.

_"Well there goes that smooth plan of mine, if it was even 'smooth' to begin with," _the hitman told himself as he withdrew his Beretta M9 and pumped three rounds into the man's chest.

"We got company bruddas!" a Jamaican-accented voice called out from within.

"The absolute last people I wanted to see," Artie grumbled taking cover behind a dumpster just as it was pelted by automatic fire.

"Ya' ain't gon' be shootin' up our turf witout consequences Yankee boy!" one of the thugs shouted firing upon him with a Micro Uzi.

Artie stuck his arm out and fired blindly at the attacking thugs, stopping to look back at the parked Trashmaster, hoping their gunfire wouldn't set it off as the truck was struck by a few rounds.

A feral cry came from above and the errand boy looked up to see a dreadlocked man with his face covered in what appeared to be cocaine, making a suicidal charge towards him with a machete in hand.

Artie ducked low and the machete clanged harmlessly off the dumpster's metal surface. Shooting his arm out he fired a round point blank into the man's kneecap and then grabbed him by his long braids and slammed his face into a part of the bin that stuck out, severely lacerating the thug's face before grabbing him from behind and using him as a human shield, the man's comrades showing no regard for their colleague as they riddled his body with bullets. Tossing the corpse aside he bolted as the madmen continued firing relentlessly.

_"Lady Luck, if your bitch ass is out there you'd better get the fuck over here right now. Lord knows I need you now," _Artie thought as he went to blind fire over his shoulder. So far the Caribbean gangsters hadn't been successful, yet he didn't know how long it would take them to finally get their shit together and plant one in his backside.

Eventually another dumpster came into view and he took cover behind it, given enough room to turn around and fire a round that caught a Yardie thug in the groin, leaving the man coughing up blood as he clutched at his destroyed nether region. _"Damn, now that's gonna leave a mark for sure. Not like the world needs another drug-addled psycho running around."_

"Gonna be sorry ya' spilled Yardie blood little boy!" another thug called out, shouldering his emptied shotgun and withdrawing his sidearm.

Times were desperate and Artie again popped out to fire a few rounds before he was again forced into cover, the dumpster being the only object saving his life. At the frenetic pace which the Yardies fired he had to wonder how much more punishment it could withstand.

_"Looks like I've got no other choice but to take the long road," _Artie told himself looking past the garbage truck and seeing the opposite end of the building. _"It's all or nothing kamikaze time."_

The hitman bolted, pumping his arms and legs as hard as he could, listening to the cries of the bloodthirsty Yardies chasing after him and not even wanting to think about what they would do if they caught him. A quick death was not certain with those jackals.

Having bolted past the Trashmaster he was about to reach the opposite end of the building when a green-clad Yardie stepped into view. Without mercy, Artie performed a professional wrestling-style clothesline that caught the man in the throat and sent him wheezing to the pavement. Having incapacitated the man, the errand boy finished him off with a quick road to the forehead, no time to swipe up his AK-47.

_"Bulk Brogan would be so proud of me right now," _Artie told himself, referring to the world-renowned professional wrestler he watched growing up. He still remembered how Gino of all people had actually managed to hospitalize Donnie when they were children after taking him down with the very same maneuver.

The rattle of gunfire brought his mind back to the present and the hitman continued sprinting along the building exterior and fired into another Yardie that had attempted to launch a surprise attack upon him, tearing into his midsection with a quartet of screaming metal rounds before his gun clicked empty. He could still hear the man's screams of agony and the angry cursing of his brethren behind him and knew he had to keep running while simultaneously struggling to reload his Beretta.

The adrenaline rush was beginning to wear off and Artie could feel his legs and chest starting to ache. He would need to get out of there fast and looked ahead to see a Huntley Sport, which at the moment was guarded by three Yardies.

"End of dey road mon!" one of them cheerfully called out before opening fire with his machine pistol.

Artie was literally knocked behind cover as three of the bullets had mushroomed against his bulletproofed vest and knocked the wind out of him. "God that hurt," he gasped, feeling like he had been struck by a baseball bat.

Shrugging off the pain as best as he could, he peeked out and fired a round that caught the same thug in his leg, causing him to collapse to the ground and unwittingly let loose a barrage that took down one of his friends.

"You just did my job for me," Artie laughed as he finished the wounded thug off and then dropped the last remaining guard with a three shot burst to his neck, causing his blood to gush all over the S.U.V.

With the three guards dispatched, the errand boy bolted over to the parked gang car and threw himself inside, already hearing the gunshots behind him. Finding the keys in the ignition he started it up, just as the rear windows shattered behind him.

"Fuck it all to hell," Artie spat slamming the gas pedal down and charging towards the gate, slamming his way through it and fumbling for his cell phone.

When he was confident that he was outside the blast radius, he typed in the code he was given and a deafening explosion came from behind him. Looking in his rearview mirror he stared in awe at the mushroom cloud.

"No way could anybody have survived that," Artie muttered as he pulled into the parking lot of the Oar House restaurant and pulled out his cell phone to dial Johnny's number.

The phone rang three times before he was greeted by the blast of techno music from the background.

_"Why hello there loyal lackey of mine," _Johnny's voice boomed from the other end.

"Don't get cute with me Johnny! I did your fucking job, but now you've got other problems to deal with," Artie snapped.

_"Heh, are you threatening me Artie boy? I doubt you're in any kind of position to be," _Johnny chuckled heartily.

"No I'm not threatening you, you fucking prick, but I'm damn sure you're gonna be threatened by somebody else pretty soon," Artie shot back.

_"And just what the fuck are you saying?" _he demanded, followed by some audible chugging letting him know he was in the midst of getting hammered.

"I'm saying that I know why those guys weren't paying you protection money. They were paying it to the Yardies behind your back!" Artie shouted impatiently.

The sound of liquid being spat out came from the other end. _"What the fucking hell? You're seriously telling me that those fucking tiny dicked gooks were dealing with a bunch of second-rate, spear-chucking coke fiends behind my back?"_

"You're goddamned right I am!" Artie snapped.

Just as quickly as Johnny had become angry, his tone suddenly regained its casual brogue, _"Heh, no big deal. I was gonna kill off all those fucking slopes anyway."_

"No big deal? What the fuck are you saying you ignorant fuck? You're going to be starting a war with somebody else if you keep this shit up! Those Yardies are crazy as fuck you son of a bitch!" Artie hollered.

_"Aw, is my 'big bad handyman' getting all 'fraidy cat on me now? Jesus Christ if you're going to keep all this whining up then you might as well cut off your own fucking dick and rename yourself Aretha!" _Johnny laughed.

"Fuck you Sneed! I hope they chop your dick off and shove it up your own fucking ass!" Artie snapped before switching his phone off. Tossing his phone to the floor he threw himself back into his seat and banged his head hard into the headrest behind him, taking a couple deep breaths before shooting his eyes open.

"God I hate that fucking asshole," he muttered resting his head against the steering wheel.

Sirens could be heard from a distance and he wasn't sure whether or not anybody had reported seeing him fleeing from the scene of the blast, but Artie wasn't about to take any unnecessary risks and stopped at the nearby Pay n' Spray, having the black, yellow and green vehicle repainted into a regular shade of silver with a black stripe along the sides.

_"These vehicles are actually pretty dependable from what I've seen. I'll have to hold onto this baby for the time being," _he thought to himself as he exited the shop in his newly-acquired S.U.V.

"Now time for some lunch," he told himself as he switched on The Traveler 107, currently playing some Far East instrumental music.

XXXXX

It had been nearly three hours since he had successfully carried out his job for Johnny and now Artie was waiting at a red light. He had been driving around in an attempt to clear his head following yet another brush with the boorish Johnny Sneed and was now listening to a news report live from the scene of his most recent crime.

_"At this point there is still no clue as to who could have been behind this savage attack, from which there is still no exact tally regarding the number of casualties, which continues to grow with every second._

_ "We will keep you posted as more details emerge. Back to you in the studio," _a woman reported and her voice was soon replaced by a male newscaster.

_"In other news, reclusive oil billionaires Daniel and Chester Toke are scheduled to make an appearance tomorrow at a groundbreaking ceremony in Crystal Springs that will mark the site of their future chemical plant._

_ "The event has sparked protests from numerous environmental groups who fear chemical runoff in the aforementioned springs, as well as the displacement of local wildlife. Fearing a potential showdown with the more radical activists, it has been confirmed that Patrol Invest Group will be providing security for the event. The arrival of the billionaires has also drawn criticism from mayoral candidate Robert Kretchell, a longtime critic of the brothers who along with other progressive groups, has slammed them repeatedly as opportunistic lobbyists with Mayor Walker in their pocket. It has been rumored that the brothers have donated generously to get Walker elected and are accused of giving him gifts in exchange for carrying out their agenda. When pressed on the issue, Mayor Walker gave this response."_

Another male voice came over the radio, having switched to a scene where the flashing of cameras could be heard in the background.

_"You have my assurance that the Toke Brothers are stewards in finding innovative ways to produce energy while at the same time finding a way to preserve the natural environment around them," _Mayor Walker spoke.

_"Mayor Walker, what is your response to the environmental protection groups who allege that the presence of this new chemical plant will create runoff that leaks into the nearby rivers and all the forests that will be chopped down to make way for this facility?" _a female reporter asked.

The mayor audibly scoffed before replying, _"You honestly think I'm gonna let a few tree hugging hippies stop me from bringing jobs and money to this fair city? Christ lady what are you? One of Robert Kretchell's bitches?" _the mayor chuckled before catching himself, _"Ooh, you can have that edited out, can't you?"_

_ "Mayor Walker, it has come to our recent attention that you've come into the ownership of a brand new Infernus and a Bullet GT, cars you likely wouldn't be able to afford on a typical mayoral salary unless you were using the money of your own taxpayers," _a male reporter called out, _"Also, how do you explain the recent additions to the executive mansion and that pet elephant you've recently acquired? What about the recent trip you made to Madagascar? How can we be certain these weren't gifts from the Toke Brothers? In fact, one of our sources has just recently provided our network with pictures of you hanging out with the Tokes at Madame de Sade's House of Iniquity!"_

_ "And why should you people be questioning a man's love of fine cars or his desire to protect an endangered species?" _a visibly rattled Mayor Walker shot back, _"Jesus Christ what are you? One of Kretchell's plants sent to throw me off? Ah wait a minute; yeah I see that VBC pin on your uniform! You work for those liberal douchebags! Guards, have that man removed at once!"_

Artie switched the radio over to the End Zone 86.6 sports station just as the guards converged upon the aggressive reporter.

Artie was passing through the Sawyer Gardens district and was passing the Didier Sachs when he was forced to bring the S.U.V. to a screeching halt after a woman suddenly cut across the street.

"Jesus lady, what the fuck are you thinking?" Artie shouted out the window and was climbing out when he suddenly noticed who the woman was.

"Oh my god Artie, I haven't seen you in a long time!" a familiar voice called out as its owner fell against the Huntley's hood.

"Jade?" Artie asked taking notice of her typical all black attire, "What the hell's going on?" he asked as he caught the Didier Sachs cashier before she could sink to her knees, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"More like a psychotic hobo tearing up my store!" she blurted out as she was helped to a nearby bench, "Gunnar took the day off due to a family emergency and nobody else would come in, so I had the store all to myself. From out of nowhere this guy comes running in and starts tearing shit apart. I tried to call the cops, but he got to the phone before I could and ripped it from the wall! Oh my god, I'm so scared Artie!"

Artie looked over to the aforementioned clothing store and could see a shadowy figure darting back and forth at a manic pace.

"Will you help me? Please Artie, I don't know what he's gonna do next," the woman pleaded, her mascara running down her face in blackened tears.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do. You just sit here and don't move," the Italian-American spoke as he proceeded towards the store.

Walking inside Artie was greeted by what looked like the aftermath of a hurricane.

Once immaculate articles of clothing were strewn about the floor, mannequins were tossed about and splintered, mirrors were shattered, the cash register was smashed open, yet all the money was still there. Whoever this guy was robbery wasn't his motive, he was pissed beyond all means and needing to destroy whatever he could. Ragged hisses came from the back of the store followed by incomprehensible grumbling.

"Who's there! Show yourself now!" Artie called out.

A feral growl called out and a haggard figure stepped into view. The man was clad in the tattered remnants of a black and gold track suit and had a nearly empty bottle of brandy in hand.

"Oh it's you," the man grumbled "Come to ruin my life some more?"

Artie started quizzically at the man, wondering what he meant and if he recognized him from somewhere.

He stared more intently towards the disheveled man and peered beneath the layers of filth covering the man's once tanned skin, along with the mane of shaggy hair and the bushy beard that extended to the man's chest.

"Clancy Mays?" he suddenly blurted out.

"I see you remember the names of all the people whose lives you've destroyed," the former M.M.A. fighter growled, "I oughta' fucking kill you right here, right now bitch boy!"

The man tossed his brandy bottle to the floor and tried to go into a fighting stance, but was so inebriated he stumbled into one of the few mannequins left standing and fell to the floor with a loud crash. Bracing himself against the fallen mannequin's stand the fighter turned hobo slowly pulled himself back to his feet.

"This ain't over 'til I say so," Clancy said trying to raise his fists while remaining steady on his rubbery legs before finally shrugging his shoulders, "Ah, who the fuck am I kidding? It's fucking hopeless."

Again, Artie could only stare wordlessly at the man as he stumbled towards him.

"You might as well fucking kill me, end my suffering once and for all," Clancy said throwing his arms to his sides.

"Giving up, just like that?" Artie asked.

"Heh, I've got nothing else to live for," Clancy sighed, "Everything I ever loved is gone. All my sports cars, the jet, the yachts, the mansion in Pinecone Grove, the penthouse apartment in Emerald Hill, the cabin at Devil's Cone, the beachfront condo in Jefferson beach, the multimillion dollar trainer, those two mail order Russian brides…it's all gone! All I have now is a cardboard box down by the river and my brandy…," he rambled on and on, stopping himself when he suddenly realized his bottle of brandy was no more, "…shit…"

"Really? That's all you've ever cared about?" Artie asked lowering his fists and adopting a more relaxed posture, "You don't have family or close friends you care about? What about your trainer? I'm sure you spent all sorts of time with him, wasn't he like a second father to you?"

Clancy shook his head ruefully, "Nah, he left me high and dry when some other guy offered him more money, left me just like my actual old man…goddamn I need another fucking drink."

"Okay," Artie said backing off, wondering whether or not he should have said that.

"If you need me, I'm gonna be drinking myself to death now," Clancy said stumbling past Artie and making his way out the front door while the hitman stared in shock, wondering whether or not he had just done a good deed or driven a man to suicide. He tried not to think anything more of it and made his way back outside and over to the waiting Jade.

"Alright, I dealt with the son of a bitch. I don't think he'll be coming back anytime soon," the hitman explained looking back towards the store's direction.

"Oh thank you so much Artie! You're a lifesaver. I truly mean it. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before, I swear!" Jade gasped hugging him tightly.

"Hey no problem, I figure you already gotta put up with my hornball of a cousin more than you'd like to, so why not give you a reason to view the Cappelli name in a more positive light for once?" Artie smiled as she let go.

"Well thanks and between you and me, next time you come around maybe I'll let you get a discount on anything you want," Jade said leaning towards him.

"I'll hold you to that," Artie said watching as she reentered her shop.

The errand boy's phone suddenly rang again and he looked down to the caller ID, "Speaking of hornballs," he muttered switching it on.

"_Hey Artie, what's up favorite cousin in the entire universe?" _Donnie called out from the other end.

"Are you in another jam or something if you're already kissing my ass that much at the drop of a hat?" Artie asked.

"_Well…yes and no. You see Cuz, tonight is the grand reopening of Hell's Belles and one of my guards can't make it because he came down with the swine flu, so I'm gonna need somebody to fill in for him. So what do you say to that? Be a little extra money in your pocket…hell, I'll throw in free lap dances for you as an added perk! Compliments of being The Don's favorite cousin in the entire fucking universe!"_

"Hmm, well I don't know just yet Donnie…" Artie spoke only to find himself rudely cut off.

"_Cuz, don't be a fucking faggot on me! If you have any other plans for the night, consider them cancelled! I need you over here at 9 o'clock sharp. See you there!" _Donnie blurted out before hanging up.

"Ugh…damn it Donnie!" Artie growled squeezing the cell phone in his hand. _"How the fuck did I end up with this kind of bullshit in my family? Oh well, guess I've gotta be there before he does God knows what to make me the laughing stock of Rushmore City."_

Shrugging his shoulders Artie made his way back towards the Huntley Sport and proceeded back home for a quick nap.

XXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends yet another installment of "Rushmore City," almost caught up to where I left off with the original before I decided to scrap everything and start over from the beginning.

The Toke Brothers are meant to be a parody of real-life shady oil magnates David and Charles Koch, two right-wing douchebags who dedicate pretty much their entire fortune to smearing anything and anybody that doesn't share their far right views, pretty much bankrolling a majority of the Tea Party movement. I personally call them the "Cock" Brothers, but their last name is supposed to be pronounced "coke" like cocaine, so I wanted to keep the drug-related humor going and named them "toke" as in marijuana.

Them being accompanied to the groundbreaking ceremony by the PIG mercenaries is inspired by current events here in Wisconsin where unlicensed heavily-armed guards have been reported hanging around what is supposed to be a future mining site here in my state.

The headline Artie reads about porn star Ron Jeremy running for President is inspired by a display pic I used to have on my Facebook profile that is of a mock presidential flier saying "Ron Jeremy for President 2012" and then his tagline is "You're gonna get screw anyway, might as well get screwed by a pro!" In a way that's inspired by Burt Reynolds being the mayor of Steelport in "Saints Row: the Third."

Mack Samuels is a parody of Jack Daniels and Bulk Brogan is a parody of Hulk Hogan.

The Me Me Qau sweat shop Artie blows up, Me Me Qau is Hmong for "small dick," keep in tradition with Rockstar's sexual innuendo-based sense of humor.

Well I think that's pretty much it then for my author's notes so until next time, read and review as always! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	38. Too Much Drama and Not Enough Belles

Chapter 38: Too Much Drama and Not Enough Belles

It had been a few hours since Artie had gotten home from running his errand for Johnny and only now had he just woken up from a six hour long nap.

He was clad only in his boxers and an undershirt as he relaxed in front of the TV, flipping through channels until he happened across the CNT network.

On right now was "Ghetto Eye for the Queer Guy," a show where a group of gang bangers take a random pussified gay man and attempt to turn him into a 'badass motherfucker.'

At the moment two blue-clad gang members had a skinny white guy with bleached blond hair standing with them in a back alley.

_"Hey yo' this here is J.C.J. and I got my homie G-Dawg wit' me and today we're gonna be showin' this pansy assed cracka' Chad here how to roll wit' da' real boys on these 'ere streets!" _the first gangster, a skinny black man with his hair worn in an afro, shouted to the camera.

_"Um, excuse me sir," _the gay man called out in a stereotypical feminine lisp, _"Uh, why are we here at this time of day? I mean, I like to start out every morning with my tofu shake and some pilates."_

_ "And I like to start my day out blastin' some of those motherfuckin' Bishop bitches!" _the gangster called G-Dawg snapped, _"And for God's sakes take this fucking gay scarf off! You roll wit' da' Cribs now, you wear our colors motherfucker!" _ he said ripping the ascot from Chad's neck and shoving a blue jacket into his hands.

_"But this isn't Didier Sachs!" _Chad protested before having a Tec-9 shoved into his face.

_"And this ain't a Desert Eagle, but it's still gonna splatter your gay brains all over the gay sidewalk if ya' don't start cooperating wit' us! Now put it on bitch! You're one of us now and only 'cause we're gettin' paid to babysit your sorry snow white ass!" _J.C.J. screamed in his face, forcing Chad into tears.

_"Aw, look what cha' did, ya' hurt his feelings," _G-Dawg called out in mock sympathy before ramming the butt of his shotgun into Chad's stomach, _"Ya' gonna cry now ain't cha little bitch boy?"_

Both Crib members then proceeded to beat the living hell out of Chad before the camera went black. When the image came back into view, the three men were standing outside a nightclub.

_"Aw'right ladies and gentlemen, now we that we got that little 'incident' outta tha' way, we're here outside the Redrum, a known Bishops hangout spot," _J.C.J. explained motioning to the building behind them.

_"Got a bunch of those bitches in there tonight," _G-Dawg spoke up pumping his shotgun, _"and we gonna show them what happens when ya' gun down one of our brothers on his own front porch!"_

_ "My god that's awful," _Chad spoke up from the background, now wearing the blue jacket and a matching do' rag with his face heavily bruised up, only to receive another slap upside the head from G-Dawg.

_"Bitch you just sit back and shut your fuckin' hole! This ain't West Vinewood pretty boy! Out here, you only speak when we tell ya' to! Capiche? Oh wait sorry, that ain't 'Gayanese' is it?"_

_ "Aw'right this is it, we're gonna storm this place and teach those muthafuckas a lesson in respect," _J.C.J. spoke while handing a Beretta M9 to Chad, who then raised his hand.

_"The fuck you want now bitch? Ya' gonna complain 'cause that gun ain't all nice and pretty enough for ya'?"_

_ "Um no Mr. J.C.J. sir, it's just that I wanted to know are we really going to come out of this alive? I don't want to be late for my yoga class tonight!" _Chad spoke before taking another backhand from G-Dawg.

_"Bitch, tha' Cribs don't do any of that yoga shit or any other pink tight wearin' shit! We ain't a bunch a bustas like those fags ya' hang out with! We fuckin' eat danger and shit victory!" _the larger gang member shouted before being stopped by J.C.J.

_"Shit, there's one of those bitches right now!" _he shouted pointing to a red-clad gangster smoking a joint and looking down to his Whiz Ballsak.

The two Cribs raised their weapons and cut down the man in a hail of gunfire as Chad screamed in the background like a woman being raped.

_"Man you scream like a bitch in heat! No wonder ya' like the dick so much!" _G-Dawg shouted as they exchanged gunfire with more members of the Bishops.

Chad continued screaming like a woman until he was cut down by a barrage from an AK-47.

_"Damn, that's the third queer this week!" _J.C.J. shouted.

_"Are we still gonna get paid for doin' this show if they keep dyin' on us like this?" _G-Dawg asked.

Artie's cell phone rang and he saw it was Donnie calling him again. Switching off the TV he then switched his phone on.

_"Hey Cuz, you coming or what?"_ the elder Cappelli called out as techno music thumped in the background.

Artie looked down to his digital watch and saw it was getting close to 8 o'clock. He would need to be there in roughly an hour.

"Oh shit, sorry Donnie I lost track of time. I'll be over there right away!" Artie said reaching over for a clean pair of blue jeans.

_"Your ass better be. This has gotta be one of the biggest nights of my life," _Donnie replied.

"And you've said that how many times already?" Artie asked.

_"See you there!" _Donnie said ignoring his cousin's sarcastic question and hanging up.

"And once again I find myself being Donnie's 'bitch boy.' Gotta wonder what it's gonna lead to tonight," the errand boy asked aloud as he pulled on a clean light green polo shirt, _"Should I even bother asking?"_

Scooping up his wallet, keys, cell phone and Beretta M9 he exited through the back door and was about to make his way down the stairs when he spotted another horrific sight he wished he would never have to see ever again.

"Oh god no…how the hell did she survive?" he asked himself staring down upon Freda, slumped against a nearby wall with a bottle of Mack Samuels in hand. _"Last time I saw that bitch I put a fucking bullet in her arm."_

Her snoring was loud enough to wake the dead, but at least it had been loud enough to disguise the hitman's footsteps as he snuck around her.

"Handsome…handsome…Italian…man…" she muttered between snores, enough to convince the errand boy to run like hell out of the back alley before she could awaken and continue her rancid pursuit of him. Reaching the Huntley Sport he threw himself inside and fired up the engine, his station switched to Rewind FM, currently playing "Heart of Glass" by Blondie.

_"Just one more incentive for me to get the hell out of this shithole once the blockade is lifted," _Artie told himself with a shudder as he fought to expel images of the aging hooker from his head, _"but only if I can find a way to kidnap those Russian twins. They really prove to be quite the tag team. Why the hell should we have wasted so much time fighting communism with the kind of women they have? I mean, hot fucking damn," _he thought to himself, so deep in his train of thought he blew through a red light and forced a lime green and white Oceanic to swerve into a nearby bus kiosk.

"Fucking cocksucker! This was my daddy's car!" the motorist called out, but Artie was out of earshot by then.

The hired gun blew across the Eastwood Bridge and the rest of the drive to Lakeview went by uneventfully and much quicker thanks to him having memorized all the shortcuts and it wasn't long before he was pulling up to the newly reopened gentlemen's club.

"Oh my fucking lord…" Artie gasped as he noticed the length of the line of people waiting outside, also not to forget all the limousines pulling up and the spotlights illuminating the nighttime sky like he was attending some kind of Vinewood premiere.

"Donnie, I think it's safe to say you've officially outdone yourself," Artie spoke as he was forced to park down the street due to the parking lot being filled to capacity.

Jogging towards the entrance he made his way directly towards the front door, earning a vast array of jealous glares before finally reaching the same doorman from his last visit there, who was named 'Jacoby' according to Donnie.

"Hey Jacoby, it's me Donnie's cousin Artie!" the errand boy called out waving at the beefy man.

"Oh hey, what's up?" he called out as he was forced to divert his attention away from some guy in a dark fancy suit, "Yeah, the boss said he needed to speak with you immediately!" he said opening the door for him.

Artie made his way inside and right away could barely move due to the vast amount of people present, wondering if all of Jefferson Vale was present for this grand reopening.

_"Man, and I thought the people of Liberty City loved their tits," _he thought forcing himself into the main club area, where "Porn Star Dancing" by My Darkest Days blasted over the loudspeakers as numerous naked ladies either grinded up against the vast assortment of poles present or each other while others were in the midst of performing lap dances.

After maneuvering his way towards the back of the building he finally reached Donnie's office.

_"Alright, I'd better be ready for whatever there is inside," _he thought to himself, remembering how he happened across the impromptu orgy at his cousin's house a while back and furthermore, seeing him naked, another image which made him shudder. Swallowing everything up he rapped hard on the door.

"It's open," Donnie called out.

Slowly opening the door, Artie was relieved to find Donnie fully clothed, wearing a light blue pinstriped suit, blue and white striped tie, white cowboy boots and a light gray fedora, two naked women sitting on his lap as he attempted to sip a glass of wine at the same time.

"Hey Artie!" he called out over the ladies' giggling, "C'mon in Cuz!"

"I see you're having quite the grand reopening here," Artie said looking over the two women, one a shapely auburn-haired beauty with piercing green eyes and curves in all the right places and a strawberry blonde-haired woman with an athletic figure and an ample chest to boot.

"Cuz, this is greater than anything I could've ever imagined!" the elder Cappelli boomed as he 'accidentally' spilled some of his wine all over the blonde's chest, "Sorry about that sweetie, I'm gonna have to 'clean that up' in a little bit, but first my cousin and I need to discuss a little business. Now, if you'll excuse me," he said motioning for the two women to stand up and they walked over to the nearby loveseat as Donnie rose to approach his cousin.

"So you said you needed some extra security for tonight, huh?" Artie spoke up.

"Ah yes, so far the night has gone by pretty smoothly, but given the kind of shithole this city is, it isn't likely to last for long," Donnie explained.

"Okay, so what do you need me to do?" the younger Cappelli asked.

"You're gonna need to do like any typical ape," Donnie said placing a hand on his cousin's shoulder and leading him to the door, "You and I have been to these kinds of places before. Anybody starts fights, deals anything they're not supposed to or gets too 'touchy feely' with the dancers, you throw their punk asses out the door!"

"Gotcha, no way I could ever fail my 'favorite cousin in the entire universe,'" Artie sarcastically replied.

"That's the spirit dear boy!" Donnie spoke with a hearty pat that was harder than Artie would have liked, "Get your ass over to the security office and talk to Autumn. She'll give you the gear you need. I'll warn you, she's quite the looker, but she's also a dyke so don't get any ideas. She won't even put out for me and believe me; I've convinced my fair share of lesbos to sleep with me in the past!"

"Um yeah…that's' good to know," Artie replied, reluctant to hear any more about his cousin's past sexual exploits, "Guess I'll be on my way then."

Artie once again braved the crowded club and made his way over to the security office where he was greeted by the club's security manager Autumn, a tall, busty blonde in a provocative miniskirt.

"Ah, so you must be the boss' cousin then? Heard it's your first night on the job," she spoke as she diverted her attention from the security monitors to Artie.

"Hey, you must be Autumn, a pleasure to meet you. I'm not going to be a regular around here. I'm just doing this for some extra bucks until the quarantine gets lifted," Artie explained while walking over to the nearby locker and pulling out a black suit similar to the one he wore while running his last errand for Donnie.

"Well so far it's been fairly peaceful out there, but you never know with a place like this," she replied.

"Yeah, I'll have to keep that in mind," Artie said putting in his earpiece and giving himself a final look over in the mirror before exiting the office.

Artie made his way back outside and took a position near the top of a flight of stairs, watching over the floor as a bunch of horny clients surrounded the main stage, where a woman wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and a pair of Western-style boots rode a Puerto Rican dancer like a bucking bronco while simultaneously spanking her.

_"Gonna be another one of those nights," _he told himself while trying to avoid pitching a tent in his pants as a dark-haired woman gyrated her hips provocatively before baring her DD-sized chest to the crowd before her on the side stage to his left, the horny patrons hooting and hollering as they tossed their dollars onto the dais.

_"Artie are you there? I'm picking up on a possible drug deal over by the men's restroom," _Autumn called out over his headset, _"Address the situation at once!"_

"I'm on it," Artie shouted into his little microphone.

Artie made his way over to the restroom area, where surely enough he spotted a black man in a bright red hoodie and matching turned around baseball cap offering some small plastic bags to two jocks in lettermen jackets, a Redcoat slime bag no doubt.

"Alright, break it up!" he called out, "This shit isn't going to fly in this club. Take it elsewhere at once!"

"Fuck you Gestapo pig!" the dealer called back before spitting in his face.

Artie grunted in disgust as he wiped the saliva away from his face, "Alright, I'm going to give you to the count of three to get your punk ass out of here or else I'm gonna do something that isn't nice!"

"Or you'll what?" the dealer mockingly called out.

"You'll try raping him with your pea-sized dick?" one of the buyers shouted.

A second later the cocky punk was down on the floor with a broken nose, compliments of Artie's right hook.

"The fuck you doing?" the guy's friend called out, only to be halted by Artie raising his fists.

"Enforcing the rules," Artie said rubbing his sore knuckles, "Now take this shit elsewhere or else a broken nose will be the least of your worries!" the hitman shouted.

"Aw fuck me in the ass bitch! Let's get the fuck outta here!" the dealer called out to his 'customers' before they finally exited the building.

_"A Redcoat would have put up a fight, guess he doesn't roll with them," _Artie thought as a brunette dressed in a provocative construction worker costume passed him by, her denim cutoffs barely covering her round buttocks and once again forcing the hired gun to do everything he could to control himself.

_"Artie, you need to get over to the V.I.P. area at once! A customer is feeling up one of our dancers!" _Autumn called out.

"Roger that! I'm on it!" he shouted back and bolted over towards the same area in which he had been in the midst of getting his private dance before Donnie started shooting the place up.

"Get off me you filthy ape!" he heard a woman's voice calling out. Following her voice he entered a V.I.P. room to find a buxom brunette in nothing but a leopard-print G-string struggling with a muscular man in a red and white striped top.

"Alright pal, we don't allow that shit around here! Break it up!" Artie shouted as he managed to pull the dancer away.

"Hey fuck you prick! I paid for this dance!" the man protested, only to be silenced by a karate chop that left him collapsing to the floor clutching at his sore throat.

"Obviously you weren't made aware of the rules around here. There is absolutely _no_ touching the dancers!" Artie grunted as he grabbed the man by his collar and dragged him to the back door, tossing him outside.

"Thank you so much," the grateful dancer said as she grabbed onto Artie and began grinding against him, "If you want I'll give you a free private dance just for doing that for me."

Again Artie had to fight against his own hormones, "Thank you ma'am. Your offer is very tempting, but I'm on the clock so I'm gonna have to take a rain check, but keep up your good work!"

"Mmmmm, I'm definitely gonna hold you to that honey. You _better_ come back for that dance," the woman said winking at him before making her way back to the main room.

"You're goddamn right I will," Artie whispered, checking out her barely covered ass as she exited. _"I never thought I'd say this, but thank you Donnie. This beats being shot at, chased by the cops or having to track down some two-bit loser any day of the week."_

Artie returned to the main floor where things were running a little more smoothly than before and a few songs played, one of which left him watching in awe as a petite Filipina managed to scale the tallest pole all the way to the ceiling and then gracefully spin her way down upside down and then flip herself back onto her feet.

"Man, Flea Man eat your heart out," Artie said quietly before he was interrupted from his thoughts by another call.

_"Artie, we've got a drunken disturbance over at the bar. Check it out whenever you can," _Autumn called out.

"Gotcha," Artie replied.

Bounding over to the bar area, he found a shaggy man screaming violently at both bartenders.

"You can't tell me the Australian-American War never happened you filthy liberal slut!" the belligerent man shouted as he tossed a glass at the woman, who barely ducked underneath it, "You're no better than that damned kangaroo launching that suicide attack upon us at Perth! Ten good men died that day! I still hear my buddy Charlie's dying screams every night you fucking cunt!"

"Alright pal, you need to settle down," Artie said grabbing the man by the arm.

"Take your hand off me…you…" the man slurred before being stopped by an unseen force and then vomiting all over Artie's shoes.

"Oh you're so getting it for that you piece of shit!" Artie growled grabbing the man by his hair and slamming his head down on the bar before placing him into a full nelson submission hold and dragging him out the front door, shoving him into the nearest trashcan.

"You can't do this to me! I served this country in a foreign war and deserve better than this!" the man screamed as Artie made his way back inside.

_"Artie, I need to see you in the security office at once!" _Autumn called out.

_"Hmm, maybe she's pissed at me for being a little too rough with the patrons. Guess I'm gonna be getting fired my first night on the job," _Artie thought to himself looking down to his soiled shoes, _"I need to change my shoes anyway," _he told himself making his way towards the office.

Making his way inside he found Autumn sitting at the bank of monitors.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked, trying to remain as calm as he possibly could.

"You're damn right I wanted to see you," the busty blonde replied turning towards him and spreading her legs to reveal she wasn't wearing any panties.

"Are you coming on to me?" Artie asked perplexed, "Donnie told me you were a dyke."

Autumn scoffed in reply, "Heh, I only said that so he'll leave me alone. Christ with all the women here he's already fucked do you really think I'd wanna pick up whatever he's carrying?"

"How he hasn't already picked something up is beyond me," Artie replied, just as Autumn stood up and placed her hands on his shoulders, turning him around and lowering him into the seat.

"Relax tiger, just sit back and enjoy yourself," Autumn replied getting down on her knees and pulling her top down so her breasts were out in the open.

_"Might as well. Donnie's probably too busy to notice anything," _the errand boy thought as his pants were unzipped, _"Crap; Gladys will kill me if she finds out about this…"_

_XX_XXX

_**1 Hour Later**_

Artie emerged from the security office with an ear-to-ear grin as he straightened out his sport coat.

_"As good as she is I wonder how she gets away with being a 'pretend dyke' around Donnie of all people. I definitely thought he was a lot sharper than that_," he thought making his way over to the bar, where the bartender who had been harassed earlier saw him coming and poured him a shot.

"Here Mr. Cappelli, have one on the house. You've earned it," the woman smiled at him, her nametag identifying her as _'Shauna.'_

_ "Artie, are you there?" _Donnie's voice called over his headset.

"Donnie?" he asked, surprised to suddenly hear from his cousin.

_"No, it's the freaking Easter Bunny, of course it's me dipstick!" _the elder Cappelli called out before resuming his business-like tone, _"Anyways, you're gonna need to be on top of your game. I just received word that Dustin Beaver is one his way."_

"Did I just fucking hear you correctly? You said that Dustin Beaver, the pop sensation, is coming to Hell's Belles of all places? How the hell old is that little shit stain? 10? 12?"

_"My guess is as good as yours, but in the end who gives a fuck? The little bastard claims to have a 'permission slip' from his mother to be here," _Donnie replied.

"Seriously?" Artie asked, finding himself fighting to contain his laughter, "And just why are you telling me this and not Autumn?"

_"You wanna make some extra bucks or not?" _Donnie replied.

"Okay, what's going on?" Artie asked.

_"I've been told he's going to need someone to drive him around after he's had his 'fun' here. I honestly cannot stand that little prick and his sanctimonious little 'goody two shoes' act. I know you probably hate the paparazzi just as much as I do, but I'm sure you've still got your camera phone with you and I'm gonna need you to take some incriminating pics that I can send to the Celebinator and bring that little fraud down once and for all."_

The ear-to-ear grin returned to Artie's face, "My god Donnie for once you're going to have me doing a very high and noble deed! Thank you!"

_"No problem Cuz. I'm tired of seeing that little rat bastard's face everywhere, not to forget I'm also tired of my neighbor's 13 year old daughter blasting that song where he's singing about supposedly being in love with some little girl! Christ, all he signs is 'Girly, girly, girly, girly, girly-"_

"I get it, I get it," Artie replied, "I'll see what I can do about the little cocksucker."

_"That a boy Artie! He should be arriving any minute now," _Donnie giddily replied before cutting out.

Surely enough it wasn't long before Dustin Beaver arrived flanked by a large entourage, the big beefy men doing everything they could to shield the teen pop sensation from all the women and gay men attempting to get at him. How gay men could be in a place like this was beyond even Artie himself.

"Thank you! Thank you I love you all!" the teen heartthrob called out, "You're all such amazing fans. I love every single one of you-" he called out before a plastic bottle hit him in the face, bringing him to tears.

"Get that little prick!" one of his bodyguards called out and within seconds they converged upon the guilty man, beating him with nightsticks and shocking him with tasers.

"Will somebody please give this kid a poor lap dance!" the singer's handler called out and within seconds a curvy African-American woman was on hand to lead him back to the V.I.P. area.

"Come with me baby boy. Mama's gonna make it all better," the woman spoke leading him by the hand to the back area.

_"I'm definitely gonna make it better for a lot of people," _Artie thought to himself as he withdrew his phone and snapped a picture of the prepubescent with the dancer. _"Have fun explaining that to your mommy little boy!"_

For the most part things went quietly aside from a few patrons raising their voices, to which Artie managed to gently admonish them without bloodshed.

It would be an hour before Dustin Beaver reemerged and Artie found himself approached by his handler.

"Hey, are you the errand boy we were referred to?" the man asked.

"Yes, that would be me," Artie replied, shooting a filthy glare towards the pop star.

"We've been told that you were to chaperone Mr. Beaver here, make sure he gets around to his devoted fans safe and sound," the handler spoke.

"Ah yes, that would be," Artie replied with the fakest smile known to man.

"Make sure you're with him at all times. We don't need him being arrested for violating curfew," the man explained.

"Oh yes, my mother wouldn't like that at all," Dustin spoke up in the most angelic tone he could muster.

_"She wouldn't like you being here either you little shit," _Artie thought to himself before replying, "I will do what I can. You can trust me."

"Oh and before I forget," the handler said handing him a small vial, "This is his anti-diarrheal medication. Make sure he takes two capsules before bedtime."

"I will not fail you," Artie spoke through gritted teeth, forcing himself to hold back laughter.

"Alright, let's go you douche!" Beaver spoke up, dropping the 'innocent angel' act, "I've got places to be and I hear this city has the best of what I need!"

"Sure thing, right this way," Artie replied leading the teenager to the back door, where a black Super GT awaited them behind the building.

Artie was about to switch on the radio when he was halted by the teen star producing a C.D. from his pocket, "I don't wanna listen to any of the crappy stations around here. I want you to be the first to listen to my brand new demo."

"Heh, maybe I don't wanna listen to your demo squirt," the errand boy grunted, only to receive a weak punch to his arm.

"You're working for me now you worthless jackass!" the teenager hollered, "You're going to do as I say or else I'm telling my mother on you!"

Artie roared with laughter, slapping his knee with one hand and holding his aching side with the other.

"And you're going to tell her what?" he shot back, struggling to get his words out as he was still laughing his ass off, "That you met me at a strip club? I bet she's going to be oh so thrilled when she hears that little tidbit of information," Artie laughed.

The click of a gun suddenly came from next to him and he turned to find a Colt Python pointed in his face.

"Just do as I fucking say, you worthless piece of shit that will never ever see a Grammy in your entire life," the teen growled.

"Bet you don't even know how to use that, junior," Artie taunted.

A gunshot erupted next to him and the errand boy was nearly deafened by the up close blast, the ringing so intense he didn't hear the driver's side window shatter next to him.

"Do as I fucking say," the teen growled.

"Fine, you win," Artie sighed in defeat, _"This is going to be a long fucking night!" _he thought as some extremely crappy pop music filtered in over the car's stereo, to which Dustin began singing along to. _"And to think little girls actually slit their wrists over this little sack of shit not taking notice of them. Christ, what is America coming to?"_

"So where to first, little tyke? Construct-a-Coon? Duckeyland? Wherever else little kids hang out?" Artie asked as they pulled into traffic.

"Take me to the Red Light District. I hear you've got some good merchandise over there," the teen ordered in between singing along with his own tune, rambling on about another likely non-existent girl he is supposedly 'in love' with.

"Hmmm, is that a little too 'big and scary' for a little one? I hear you gotta be this tall to enter certain places around there," Artie said making the height motion with his hand, wanting to be as much of a condescending prick as he could be.

"Fuck you dickweed, my gun is bigger and scarier than…more than you could ever think!" the teen replied, struggling to make a strong comeback.

"Oh, there is some damned good merchandise in those parts. Believe me, there is," Artie replied while stifling an evil giggle, knowing he could get some damn good compromising shots of the supposedly squeaky clean teenager in that area.

It was a long trek that would take Artie all the way across the city and even with all the shortcuts he knew, it was still going to be a grueling task given the shitty pop music he was forced to listen to the entire way there. Following what seemed like an eternity, they were pulling into the aforementioned district and were driving around checking out the numerous scantily-clad women walking the streets.

"Alright kid, you're the one in the candy store here. Whatever you want is yours for the taking, Artie replied in a bored timbre, doing nothing to disguise his contempt for the talentless hack sitting next to him.

They drove around in silence as most of the hookers began taking notice of the fancy car passing through their area and started primping themselves to look good for a possible high paying client. They were nearly out of the district when the hired gun finally spoke up, "Well kid, I brought you here now are you going to pick something out or what?" he asked as he began eying up the numerous hookers strolling about.

"Nope…no…not really…" the teen spoke as he scanned the numerous women before crying out, "Ooh, I want that one!"

Artie brought the car to a halt and looked around, "Alright, which lady do you want?"

"I want that one over there!" he shouted pointing excitedly out the window.

When Artie saw what he was pointing at, he didn't know whether he was supposed to laugh his ass off or puke his guts out.

Reclining against a rusted mailbox outside a bar called 'The Hole Patrol' was a short skinny man of Asian descent wearing a lime green sleeveless top and pink hot pants, gayer than a carload of queers doing a 69 in a 55.

"Oh my fucking god, you've gotta be kidding me!" Artie muttered under his breath as the teen superstar exited the car and approached the man. Utterly revolted, yet sensing his opportunity he pulled out his cell phone and switched on the camera phone, snapping a picture of the teen feeling up the gay prostitute in a suggestive manner and then another as they entered a nearby alley holding hands.

_"Now that's fucking sick right there. I don't know if I should strangle Donnie for this or what? Jesus, that's so fucking gay right there for a lack of a better cliché!" _Artie thought with a shudder as he waited impatiently, shutting off the C.D. player and switching the radio over to 94.3 CSKD, now playing 'Aesthetics of Hate' by Machine Head.

"At least something normal for once," Artie exhaled, the aggressive music having a soothing effect upon the severely disturbed errand boy.

He felt his phone vibrating and reached down to see it was Zeke calling him. Turning down the music he switched the phone on, "Hey man, how's it going?"

_"Dude Artie, you oughta' come over right now. Iceman, Randy and Dal are over here and we're about to take on some wannabe gang banger shitheads from Los Santos! I know it's gonna be a walk in the park, but still we could always use an extra guy," _Zeke called out.

_"Plenty of booze here too," _he heard Iceman shout from the background.

"Thanks Zeke, but for now I'm gonna have to pass. Donnie stuck me with a babysitting job tonight," Artie replied as he looked over towards the nearby alley Dustin had disappeared into almost fifteen minutes earlier.

_"You'd better be babysitting some hot piece of ass in order to blow us off this time," _Zeke replied.

"Yeah, yeah I am," Artie half-groaned, "A hot chick from his club," he lied, knowing he would never hear the end of it if they knew he was stuck escorting Dustin Beaver without putting a bullet in his skull at the end of the night.

_"Well just hope she isn't some of Donnie's sloppy seconds. Take care until then bro," _Zeke replied.

"Yeah, you too," Artie said switching the phone off and then looking back towards the alley, "C'mon you little fudge packer, what's your fucking hold up?" he grumbled, only to stop himself to avoid another disturbing mental image.

_"Too late," _he told himself as he looked across the street to find some balding middle-aged pervert opening his trench coat and flashing him, "Jesus Fucking Christ I need to say fuck what Donnie wants and kill this little son of a bitch."

A few moments passed before Dustin finally emerged from the alley hand in hand with the gay prostitute, who leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

_"Now I know why he's so pale, there's no sunlight in the closet," _Artie thought to himself snapping a picture of the episode.

Dustin made his way back to the car and climbed inside, "Why have you taken out my demo and replaced it with this devil music?"

"Oops, I forgot that you just fornicated with a male prostitute," Artie cried out in mock terror, "I wonder how your pastor is going to react if he ever finds out!"

"Whatever dickhead, just get me over to Little Jamaica. I hear there's a nice old lady over there who serves the best of everything, and I'm not talking food," Dustin spoke.

"Sure thing," Artie replied knowing what he had to be talking about when mentioning Little Jamaica. He shuddered at the thought of being in Yardie territory after what had happened earlier today; then again it wouldn't be the first time he has been in the belly of the beast.

"So tell me Mr. Cappelli, do you know any nice dago bitches?" the pop star inquired.

"Excuse me?" Artie shot back, finding himself offended by the ethnic slur.

"You heard me," Dustin replied, "You're Italian and I heard Italian women are supposed to be animals in the sack."

"And just who the fuck told you this munchkin? Your mommy?" the errand boy mockingly replied.

"No, my grandmother," the singer answered as Artie came to a stoplight.

"You just took it in the shitter from another man kid, why the fuck should I point any women in your direction? You probably don't even know what sex really is, do you?" he asked the teen star, fighting his urge to throw him out and let a street sweeper run him over.

"So that's what they call it when a man puts his 'long wiggly thingy' into a woman?" Dustin asked staring at him wide-eyed, "You mean it's not the same thing as what Father McKelty did to me in the confessional booth when I was 7?"

Artie snickered at the question, "Yes! Jesus kid, don't they have Sex Ed. classes at your school?"

"No, my mom teaches me that sex is evil and that you're supposed to wait until marriage," Dustin replied.

"Fucking conservatives," Artie spat, "dumbing down America's youth more than they are helping them."

At the same time he had to laugh at the amount of trouble he knew this kid was about to get into.

They approached the Little Jamaica district and right away Artie was looking around carefully for any Yardies. He found a few standing around outside the Jerry Juana's Green Galore clothing shop he had shaken down for Johnny, but fortunately they appeared more interested in the marijuana and alcohol they currently consumed.

"Over there!" Dustin cried out excitedly as he spotted an overweight Caribbean woman in a multicolored dress with a Jamaican flag-patterned towel wrapped around her head sitting in the back of an opened Slamvan parked in the alley next to the 69 Cent store.

Artie watched as the teen excitedly bolted over towards the woman and handed her a wad of bills before accepting a small pink vial of SPANK.

"Smile pretty for the camera," he said pulling out his phone and zooming in to take a picture of the teen accepting the vial and then snorting up all of its contents on site.

He waited patiently as the singer stumbled over towards the car and fell across the hood, bracing himself as he struggled to open the passenger side door.

"Ugh…get me back to the club…please…" Dustin slurred as he collapsed into the passenger seat.

"Aw, don't wanna stop anywhere else?" Artie mockingly asked.

"Fuck…you…" the singer weakly replied before passing out with residue all over his face.

Artie couldn't resist the opportunity and raised his camera phone to snap one last picture.

"Oh Dustin, Dustin, Dustin, you've been a very bad little boy," Artie snickered to himself as they made their way back to Hell's Belles. The ride went along smoothly as he drove back to the gentlemen's club and sure enough, there was a limousine waiting to collect the megastar.

"I trust everything went well for you," the handler inquired as another guard reached in to pull his charge from the passenger seat.

"Everything went just fine and dandy. He was such a pleasure to be around. Now I know why he's as popular as he is," Artie replied in mock sincerity.

"Mr. Beaver loves his fans and anybody who does him a good favor he says deserves this," the man said handing him an envelope containing five thousand dollars in cash.

"It was all in a night's work," Artie nodded.

"Any particular reason his face is covered in all that white residue though?" the handler again asked lowering his glasses to get a closer peek at his passed out client.

"Oh that…we stopped for doughnuts…he really loves his doughnuts," Artie chuckled nervously.

"Indeed he does," the handler replied, "Very well, we must be moving. He is a busy young man after all."

As the limo pulled away he pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed Donnie's number.

"Donnie, I got some juicy pics of that little shit in action. I think you're going to like what you see, or more appropriately, the Celebinator is going to like what he sees," Artie reported.

_"Hell yeah Cuz, I knew you could do it!" _Donnie roared in approval, _"I'm gonna laugh so fucking hard when that little pecker is hitting rock bottom!"_

"Me too Cuz, I'm sending you the photos right now," Artie replied and hit the button to forward the pics to his cousin.

_"Oh hell yeah! Once again you've gone above and beyond the call of duty! I'm gonna see to it you get paid as soon as possible for this noble deed of yours," _Donnie replied.

"That's all that matters. I'll talk to you later. I'm beat," Artie said before hanging up.

Before Artie could make his way towards the parked Huntley Sport he heard a series of zombie-like moans coming from the nearby alley and whirled around with his hand on the handle of his pistol ready for a fight, only to stop himself when he saw who was approaching.

"Man, this fucking sucks," the blond-haired man in the group groaned while struggling to keep his balance against a nearby concrete wall.

"Guess this is what happens when we leave Smitty in charge," his redheaded counterpart spoke next to him.

"Fuck you asshole!" the bandana-wearing man spat until he looked ahead and noticed Artie, "Oh hey wait a minute, you're that Artie guy that helped us out a while back! Artie, it's me Smitty from the Luciferians!"

"Oh hey, yeah what's up man?" Artie said waving back.

"Oh yeah…you're that fucking Guido that Iceman's buddies with," Turk spat.

"Hey man, he helped us out! Show some fucking respect," Smitty said approaching Artie and nearly collapsing onto him.

"Whoa, what the hell's wrong with you guys?" Artie asked while struggling to help the bigger man stay on his feet.

"Your new boyfriend over there thought it would be an oh-so-great idea for us to hit up some bar run by the chinks over in Chinatown," Bucky grunted, "Needless to say, there was some hot looking pussy there, but those bitches screwed us over and not in the kind of way we would've liked…"

"They fucking slipped something in our drinks and stole our bikes," Turk spat, angrily kicking a nearby trashcan over.

"So here we are now…far away from the clubhouse," Smitty said as he felt confident enough to stand on his own two feet.

"Not to forget there were some Cocks nearby too and those bitches at the bar also took our cell phones, meaning we wouldn't have been able to call for backup if we needed it," Bucky spoke up.

"Hack wouldn't like to have seen us run away like a couple of pussies," Turk groaned.

"Well hey, you guys had to do what you had to in order to survive," Artie replied, "Three guys against an army of pissed off drunken rednecks isn't exactly the best odds you can have."

"You've got that right," Smitty said earning dirty looks from both of his brothers, "Try telling that to them though."

"Heh, you always were a fucking lightweight Smitty," Bucky retorted.

"Hey, hey calm down you three!" Artie said finding himself playing an unlikely peacemaker amongst the three pissed off bikers, "Now I bet you guys are gonna need to get back to your clubhouse, right?"

"Right," Smitty spoke up.

"Well alright, I'm in a generous mood right now so I'm willing to give you guys a ride, provided you keep the Italian jokes to yourselves," Artie said looking to both Bucky and Turk, knowing Smitty likely wouldn't give him the same kind of trouble as them.

"Whatever just get us back home," Turk grunted.

"And don't play any pussy shit on your radio either!" Bucky added.

With a nod Artie led the three bikers back to his Huntley Sport and waited for them to climb in; making sure his radio was set at 94.3 CSKD, now playing "Prevail" by Kataklysm.

"Alright, take us to our clubhouse over in Stilsen," Smitty said rubbing away at his throbbing temples.

"Sure thing," Artie replied as he shifted into drive and proceeded towards their destination.

"So how are things going with you and the rest of the club?" he asked, deciding to make small talk with the friendlier Luciferian.

"Eh, still having to lay low after that job down at the docks," Smitty replied, "Those bastards wiped out most of the guys we had left and we can't get any help from our brothers on the outside because of the damned blockade."

"Yeah, I hear you on that B.S.," Artie shuddered thinking of the quarantine which kept him in the accursed city much longer than he would have liked to be. "Once that's lifted I'm getting the hell outta here."

"Any idea where you're going once that happens?" Smitty asked as his eyes diverted towards a busty prostitute strolling down the sidewalk.

"No clue, just far away from here," Artie replied, "I'm afraid if I blab too much about it there'll probably be people sent after me."

"Well I'm sure if you keep up the good work, the Luciferians will have your back. We've got chapters all over the country, plus we're tighter than a virgin's pussy with The Lost, maybe they could help you out too," Smitty chuckled.

"Well I'll have to hold you guys to that then, provided some can keep their mouths shut in regards to disparaging Italians. Not all of us run with the mob y'know," Artie replied as he sped past a DF8-90 that poked about.

"Well you're alright man, despite what others stay," Smitty nodded.

"Christ, you two might as well just start making out while you're at it," Turk called out from the backseat.

"Says the guy who's got another guy lying face down in his crotch," Artie replied.

Just then Turk looked down to find Bucky lying face down in his 'special place.'

"Ugh! Damn it get off me Bucky!" Turk said forcefully pushing his brother off of him, who was then snapped wide awake.

"Wh…what?" the Luciferian sergeant-at-arms blurted out looking around to see what was going on.

"You tell any of the brothers about this I'm hanging you upside down by your nut sack from the Eastwood Bridge!" Turk shouted to Smitty, who just snickered along with Artie.

It wasn't long before Artie reached the Stilsen district and pulled up to a dilapidated bar that served as the Luciferian clubhouse.

"Alright guys, we're here," the errand boy reported and waited for the three bikers to make their exit.

"Thanks man, we appreciate it!" Smitty waved back as they disappeared inside the building.

"Alright, well I've had enough fun for one night. Time to get some shuteye," Artie said before yawning and then making his way back home.

XXXXX

Author's Note: "Ghetto Eye for the Queer Guy" is a spoof of "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy." The two gangs featured in that show, the Cribs and the Bishops, are the property of Af Spirit, both of which were featured in his discontinued "Laugh Now, Cry Later" GTA fic. I want to give him special thanks and recommend you check out his stories as well. It's basically a self-improvement show, but with a "Gangland" twist.

Construct-a-Coon is a spoof of the Build-a-Bear Workshop franchise.

As I've probably stated before, Dustin Beaver is intended to be a spoof of Justin Bieber and the scene where he is hit in the face by a plastic bottle is a reference to this clip I saw on YouTube a long time ago where he's onstage rambling in between songs and some fan threw a plastic bottle in his face.

This episode would basically be my take on the "Club Management" missions featured in "The Ballad of Gay Tony" and Artie's interactions with Autumn would be inspired by Luis' interactions with Joni. I thought it would be funnier if she pretended to be a dyke just to throw off Donnie. Physically, she is inspired by porn star Phoenix Marie.

I think that's everything I have to say for this post-chapter author's note so as always, read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	39. Severed Ties Yield Severed Heads

Chapter 39: Severed Ties Yield Severed Heads

It had been two days since Artie carried out his latest job for Donnie and following a very dramatic night spent dangerously close to a no-talent teenage punk who will likely be in the nearest rehab center by the time he's 18, he decided to give himself the weekend off.

He was currently visiting Rockstar Autos looking for a new car to replace his blown up Sentinel. He had saved up enough money and knew he could have afforded any car present.

_"Only problem is, I destroyed a lot of the good ones the last time I was here," _he told himself while closely inspecting a 2010 Willard, not exactly the kind of car known for oozing sex appeal.

He then walked over to where another Huntley Sport was parked, very similar to the one stolen from the Yardies, but with a blue, white and silver paintjob. Granted the S.U.V. he had right now would have been plenty dependable, but he still needed a car he could maneuver around tighter corners in, that plus Lincoln Island wasn't exactly known for being much of an 'off-road heaven' where such a vehicle would have been ideal.

Next up was a Perennial, similar to the kind Aunt Gracie owned, shuddering at the sudden thought of the bipolar granny. It would have been an ideal vehicle for him…if he had to lug around a bunch of little brats to soccer practice.

"I trust you are finding everything alright, sir?" a voice called out from behind.

Artie turned to find the same proprietor he had intimidated not long ago, the dealer recognizing his face and falling backwards against an '08 Presidente luxury sedan.

"You again!" the man gasped, his skin turning snow white and looking like he was about to wet himself.

"Yeah, what about me?" Artie asked, "I'm just here to buy a car! If I wanted to kill you I already would have done it. Sheesh!" he chuckled as he resumed looking over the cars until he happened across a '98 Deimos SP.

"Holy sheep shit!" the errand boy called out and whistled in amazement.

"Ah yes…yes! That's a '98 Deimos SP!" the dealer blurted out.

"I know what it is jackass. I have eyes you know," Artie snapped back.

"Yes, yes! Quite the beauty I know!" the dealer again blurted out, only to be cut off by another sharp glare from the hired gun.

"How much does it cost?" Artie demanded.

"Well…seeing as it's used…I'm going to slash the price in half-" the dealer spoke while tugging at his collar the entire time.

"Slash it even further," Artie ordered, lowering his sunglasses so the man could see his narrowing eyes.

"Yes sir! I'll get the paperwork to you right away!" the dealer said pulling himself along the Presidente, stopping to pull out a handkerchief and wipe his sweat from its surface.

"Hold onto it for me," Artie called out before the man could walk away, "I've got plans for the day, so I'll come by to pick it up tomorrow. Make sure nothing happens to this car, or else do you remember the last time I was here? Well, you'll be lucky if you're left alive this time!"

The dealer whimpered before blurting out another "Yes sir!" and disappearing back into his office. Artie simply laughed to himself as he made his way out of the lot and towards the street.

He had made plans with Iceman and Zeke (Randy being unable to attend due to a so-called 'prior commitment') to have another 'big day out' and had been told they would pick him up outside the dealership.

"Alright, any minute now," he muttered to himself as he reclined against an empty bus kiosk, trying to ignore the loud snoring of a bum passed out nearby in a cardboard box and the 'end of the world' rhetoric a delusional street preacher was spouting outside the C.R.A.P.A. auto parts store.

The screeching of tires came from a distance and Artie was snapped from his train of thought. Knowing how both his friends liked to drive like maniacs at times, he uncrossed his arms. "About time," he said turning to face the source.

"What the hell?" he asked himself when instead of spotting Iceman's familiar blue and silver Patriot; he found a black limousine coming towards him at a high speed. Not knowing what to expect, he ducked into the nearby alley and placed a hand to the side where he kept his Beretta M9 holstered.

The limo pulled to a halt in front of the alley and he watched warily as a man in a black suit stepped out.

"Arthur Cappelli, I know you are back there. Come out at once!" the man demanded.

Whoever this fucker was, he already knew Artie. There was no point in hiding and the hitman stepped into the open with his Beretta raised.

"What's it to you?" the errand boy replied, his aim trained on the man's chest.

"You need to come with me. My boss wants to have a few words with you," the man spoke.

"Is that so? Well what if I wanted to tell your boss to go fuck himself?" the errand boy replied.

On cue, the doors opened and three additional black-suited men emerged, each of them equipped with Steyr AUG assault rifles.

"Then we'd be forced to paint the brick wall behind you with your own brain matter. Four against one, I don't like your odds. Now are you going to come with us, or are we gonna have to ventilate your sorry ass?" the man asked.

"Don't think we won't hesitate for one second pal! Now stop being a bitch and c'mon!" another thug called out.

Indeed the hitman didn't like his odds. He knew he could kill one of the men, but his buddies would see to it he was dead before he hit the ground. _"Stupid fucking gun laws," _he told himself, noting how he was only able to carry his Beretta M9 for the most part due to it easily being concealable.

"If you insist," Artie sighed in defeat, _"Christ Artie, what the fuck are you getting yourself into now?" _he asked himself while climbing in.

He found himself in the back of an elegantly furnished limousine with an expensive Persian rug on the bottom and well-polished leather seats. A mini-bar and a rack of various alcoholic beverages was present, as well as a plasma screen TV near the privacy window and an HD radio which was currently playing some traditional Italian music.

When Artie saw who was seated towards the front he had to steel himself.

"Arthur Cappelli, how ya' doin'?" Johnny Sneed called out in a mock jovial tone before taking a long sip of his wine.

"Sneed!" the errand boy spat through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, yeah I'm oh so happy to see you too," he sarcastically chuckled as his four goons glared threateningly upon their 'guest.'

"What the fuck do you want now?" Artie growled as he eyed up the assault rifles each bodyguard carried, knowing he was literally boxed into a corner.

"You're quite the hostile one aren't you?" Johnny chuckled while refilling his wine glass, "Sheesh, lighten up already will ya'? Can't an old friend take you out for a drive without you wanting to slit their throat and then fuck the wound?"

"Well you haven't answered my question yet, so why don't you 'cooperate' with me for once?" Artie spoke in a half-growl, his knuckles clenched so tight the bones threatened to burst through his skin.

"Alright, for once you've got me Cappelli. I need your help with another job," the loan shark spoke.

Artie was forced to hold back laughter as he looked around the limo, "And just what the hell would you need my help for with all these apes you've already got with you right now?" he asked, all of the thugs bristling upon being referred to as 'apes.'

"You just watch yourself little boy," one of the thugs called out pointing his Steyr's barrel at Artie, only to be halted by Johnny.

"Let's just say we're gonna be dealing with some very 'well-armed' individuals that are quite unpredictable. When I saw you were in the neighborhood I figured I would look you up," Johnny said casually reclining in his seat and flipping a switch that activated a built-in massager.

"I already had plans for the day jackass," Artie hissed.

"Well you're just going to have to cancel your 'old plans' because now you have yourself some 'new plans,' and by this point I doubt there's any turning back sunshine!" the loan shark replied setting down the wine glass and drawing his nickel plated Colt Anaconda, pulling out a handkerchief and beginning to polish it.

Artie grunted in defeat and clenched his fists, wanting to punch the guard seated next to him. "And just who the hell are these 'well-armed individuals' we're going after today? Or are you just going to be your typical sneaky son of a bitch self and not tell me anything until they're shooting at us?"

"Never short on insults are ya' Cappelli?" Johnny snorted pulling out a speed loader and carefully sliding the rounds into each chamber. "Well if you insist, we're going after the Children of Chaos."

"Oh, the 'Cocks' huh?" Artie asked, "And just what did they do to piss you off? One of their boys fucking your old lady behind your back? Let me guess, she liked it didn't she?"

"Heh, you're just a regular comedian aren't you?" Johnny chuckled slamming the magnum's chamber shut, "It isn't really me they've been pissing off per se, it's my jackass employers."

"Why Johnny, I'm shocked," Artie called out placing a hand against his cheek in mock surprise, "Those aren't very nice words for your employers now, are they?"

"Heh, you try singing their praises when they won't make you a made man because you're not a full-blooded fucking Guido," the loan shark spat.

"Hey, you just remember these 'Guidos' watch your sorry ass you Polack prick!" one of the bodyguards called out.

The revelation caused Artie to suddenly break down into a fit of hysterical laughter, "Well I'll be the black guy at a K.K.K. meeting!" the hired gun choked out while holding his sore side, "You mean to tell me you're really nothing but a fucking Polack? Goddamn you really are low on the totem pole!"

"Enough!" Johnny roared pointing his magnum at Artie, "Regardless of what that ass clown just said I do have Italian blood running through my veins, but that's a story for another time. Now to get down to business," he said resting the magnum on his lap and clearing his throat.

"The Children of Chaos have done a lot of our bitch work in the past and in turn we've rewarded them well for their service to us: money, drugs, broads, you name it we've given it to them for the way they put their necks on the line for us, well all of that has changed," Johnny spoke, looking to his men and the rifles they carried.

"Their new President, Kearney, that son of a bitch apparently thinks his dick is too big for his britches. He is demanding a higher cut than normal and is threatening to sever his ties unless a deal can be brokered. Not that I really give a shit about those grease monkeys, but the boss isn't too thrilled and he's given yours truly the shit job of having to mediate some kind of truce. Why the hell they want me of all people to do it, I have no fucking idea, but knowing those barbarians I'm not taking any chances."

"So the great Johnny Sneed is actually scared of somebody after all. Indeed it is a wakeup call when you're dealing with someone who can actually fight back," Artie taunted.

The loan shark shot him a filthy look and was about to say something when the driver called out from the front.

"Boss, get the boys ready. We're approaching Cobalt Hollow!"

Johnny looked towards his driver and then back to Artie, grunting in defeat. "I'll deal with you later schmuck. Now somebody get him a better gun," he ordered.

"Here," one of the thugs said offering him a Steyr AUG of his own, "Try anything funny and you'll be finding your dick ground into pepperoni."

Artie was not intimidated and remained silent for the rest of the ride to the Children's clubhouse, which thankfully didn't last much longer.

"Alright boys, we're here," the driver called out.

"You heard the man," Johnny said sliding the magnum into his holster before turning his attention to the driver, "and no sightseeing this time! You stay where you are until we come back. Remember what I told you after the last time!"

Artie, Johnny and the four bodyguards stepped into the open and found themselves outside a dilapidated three story building with several different kinds of American-made motorcycles parked in front of it, their owners halting whatever they had been doing and now glaring menacingly upon their arrivals.

"Pay those buffoons no heed," Johnny said with a dismissive wave as they walked towards the ramshackle building, ignoring the grungy bikers trying to intimidate him, one of whom cleaned his fingernails with a large bowie knife. Approaching the front door, the sextet found themselves stopped by a tall burly man wearing an open leather vest with no shirt underneath, showing off the multitude of tattoos covering his entire upper torso.

"Bub, unless you've got business here we don't take kindly to a bunch of corporate poseurs trespassing on our turf," the man grunted as some more grungy thugs stepped up behind him.

"As a matter of fact, we do buddy boy. I'm the mediator the Banditellis sent to talk to Kearney. Now are you going to let me in nicely, or do my boys have to 'convince' you?" Johnny asked with a sly grin, motioning to the thugs behind him.

"So you're Old Man Banditelli's bitch, huh? Ah yeah, the boss was expecting you," the guard said turning to face the others, "Let 'em in."

"Thank you," Johnny nodded and one by one Artie and the other Mafiosi entered the bar, the last goon telling the guard to "Take a fucking shower will ya'?"

_"Gonna need more than a 'fucking shower,'" _Artie thought to himself as he was assailed by a cloud of cigarette smoke mixed in with the various kinds of alcohol and body odor while stepping into a dimly-lit room where two scantily-clad women pole danced in a cage with a red lighted backdrop. The room was filled with more grubby bikers and their old ladies, all of them stopping what they were doing and staring hatefully upon the Banditelli crew.

_"Goddamn it Artie. You've really gone and outdone yourself this time," _the voice inside his head sarcastically reminded him as he could feel a biker literally breathing down the back of his neck, the errand boy to crinkling his nose in disgust.

"Alright, you all know why we're here. Kearney, get your bloated ass out here so we can get this shit over with!" Johnny called out, "The faster you're done jerking off, the faster we can be outta this shithole!"

"Never thought you'd ask," a voice boomed from the back of the room as Kearney stepped into view, a giant of a man who was roughly six feet seven inches in height and had to be well over three-hundred pounds. With his long fiery red hair and braided chest-length beard he looked like a Viking who would have been more interested in swinging a battle axe into his enemy's face rather than negotiating with anybody. "Alright guinea boy, start talking!"

The creaking wheels of a wheelchair came from behind the giant as its occupant rolled into view, a thin man with long, greasy blond hair. As soon as the crippled biker spotted Artie his hand shot out.

"Shit, that's him! That's the fucker who killed our brothers back in Steel Junction!" he hollered, pointing his finger manically at the hitman.

"Well I'll be fucking damned," Kearney said reaching for a Colt Anaconda, "Kill 'em all!"

"Shit, kill those fuckers!" Johnny shouted, squeezing off a round from his own Colt Anaconda before taking cover behind a pool table.

It took less than a split second for the environment to descend into full blown chaos, the mafia thugs raising their Steyr AUGs and ripping through anything and anybody not quick enough to get out of the way, the wheelchair-bound biker among those cut down in the initial barrage.

The Children were quick to return fire, grabbing whatever firearms they had on hand and squeezing their triggers in rapid succession, immediately cutting down two of Johnny's goons and wounding a third.

"Neither you nor the old man will ever take any of us alive!" Kearney called out before firing the fatal round the claimed the life of the wounded Banditelli thug.

It was now down to Artie, Johnny and one bodyguard. Despite them carrying the superior firearms, they were overwhelmed by the Children's greater numbers. The hired gun peeked out from behind the pool table he used for cover and even when seeing dead bodies covering seemingly every inch of the clubhouse's floor, there were still more popping out of the woodwork to fire upon them.

"Ain't nowhere to run Sneed! We're gonna chop your dicks off and mail them back to Old Man Banditelli!" Kearney shouted again.

Artie popped out and fired a barrage at a biker firing upon them from behind the bar, tearing through the man's torso diagonally and shattering all the bottles behind him in one messy display before he cut down a woman who had been firing upon him from behind a jukebox and then shot the knee out of another burly biker before that man would be finished off by a burst from the last remaining Banditelli bodyguard.

"The only one dying today is you Kearney, you rat fucking bastard!" Johnny shouted back before squeezing off another round from his magnum, failing to hit anything.

Most of the bikers had been finished off and the stubborn last few were cut down by Artie and the other Banditelli thug. With most of the bikers dead, the duo pressed further into the clubhouse after Kearney, shoving a few frightened 'old ladies' out of their way as they proceeded up the stairs to the second floor.

"Fucking hold up will ya'," Johnny called out, maneuvering his way through the carpet of corpses to catch up with his companions, bounding up the stairs just in time to have his face covered by the last bodyguard's brain matter.

"It's the end of the road for you fucking grease balls!" Kearney shouted, ducking for cover as he was forced to reload his Anaconda.

"I always thought you and the Children were nothing but hunks of dog shit! You have no idea how happy I am to finally blow your fucking head off!" Johnny screamed to the Children's president before leaping out into the open, "Ha, got you now shit for brains!"

Unfortunately for Johnny, his overzealousness got the better of him and he ended up taking a round to the gut, crumpling to the floor and wailing in agony.

"Ahhh! Get that son of a bitch! Fucking kill him!" the wounded loan shark ordered, a pool of blood rapidly forming beneath his writhing form.

Artie was forced to duck as Kearney stepped back into view and fired his remaining shots at the errand boy before making his way up to the third story.

"I'm coming for you Kearney!" Artie shouted charging towards the stairs and making his way up to find himself in a grubby living space. Expecting some kind of ambush, the hired gun took cover behind a support beam and poked the barrel of his Steyr AUG around for any threats. He kept as quiet as possible, able to hear the heavy footfalls of the gigantic biker and his labored breaths as he hoisted something into the air. As soon as the lumbering figure trudged into view he was ready to jump out and end him once and for all, until he saw what the big man was lugging about.

"I wonder how a wop tastes after they've been flame broiled!" Kearney shouted, now equipped with an LPO-50 flamethrower.

"Oh shit!" Artie blurted, leaping out of the way just in time to avoid the arc of fire launched in his direction.

"Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! Burn! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" the President cackled maniacally while spraying another torrent of fire at his target, not seeming to care if the entire clubhouse burnt down around him.

"This bastard's fucking crazy," Artie muttered, coughing violently as he was overcome by a thick cloud of smoke. Once again he was left in a desperate situation and needed to think fast or else risk being burnt alive.

"C'mon, think," he whispered to himself as he snuck around to another part of the living area and found the giant with his back to him, still spraying whatever he could with red hot flame. The flamethrower's tank was facing the hired gun and it was there Artie saw his golden opportunity.

Raising the Steyr AUG, Artie unleashed a salvo of hot lead until the tank was penetrated and a yet of fire shot from the holes, followed by an explosion which propelled the Children's president forward like a rocket through a decaying wall and out of the building.

"Now to get the fuck outta here," the hired gun said quietly to himself, looking forward and thanking whatever was out there that his path to the stairwell was left unobstructed. Wasting no time he made his way down the stairs and was about to make his way out when a still alive Johnny called out to him.

"Hey, you're not leaving me here are you?" the loan shark shouted, reaching a bloody hand towards him.

"And just why the fuck shouldn't I?" Artie shot back, smiling at the sight of the slimy weasel writhing in pain, just like he had done to so many others before.

Johnny laughed harshly and gave him a bloody grin, "Heh, do you honestly think your troubles are gonna be over if I'm dead? Ha! You'd be fucking wrong buddy boy! The old man knows who you are. Believe me, if I die there's only gonna be more of his boys coming after you and your shithead cousin! It won't be over by a long shot!" he spat before gagging harshly.

Artie glared hatefully towards the loan shark and overcome by a fresh wave of rage punched a hole into the wall next to him.

The Banditelli Mafia was the biggest gang in all of Rushmore City and with eyes and ears seemingly everywhere, they would know right away if Johnny Sneed was dead. With the limited resources and few allies he possessed, combined with Donnie's lack of willingness to help his struggling brother out, the powerful organization would easily stomp him and everybody he cared for out like a couple of ants.

"Well what's it gonna be buddy boy?" Johnny laughed harshly, "You're gonna be getting fucked either way!"

"Just shut the fuck up," Artie spat walking over and helping the loan shark to his feet, wrapping the man's arm around his shoulders and dragging him to the stairwell.

"Ha ha! I knew you'd make the right choice," Johnny grunted, "Hey, fucking watch it!" he snapped a second later as his side bumped against the stairwell's railing.

"What did I tell you about shutting the fuck up?" Artie grunted as they made their way through the bar area while struggling to navigate the corpses strewn about, "If I had my way, you'd be fucking left to die here."

"Heh heh, ain't fate a bitch?" Johnny painfully grunted as they finally came to the front door, only to be met by another horrific sight.

Johnny's driver had been extracted from the limousine and now had each of his limbs tied to the back of a different motorcycle, the Children revving their engines menacingly.

"This is what happens when you cross the Children!" one of the bikers shouted, "Drive!"

The bikers gunned their engines and slamming on the gas, each one of them took off in an opposite direction and it was only mere seconds before the hapless Banditelli driver was ripped to pieces.

"Motherfuckers," Johnny grumbled weakly as the bikers took notice of the two and began charging after them.

Forced to drop the loan shark to the ground, Artie raised his Steyr AUG and fired upon the closest biker, tearing into his chest and knocking him backwards off his Daemon, which continued speeding forth without its driver and crashed head on into the burning clubhouse, resulting in another explosion that left the already ramshackle building going up even faster.

The errand boy ducked for cover behind a parked Wayfarer to avoid a blast from another biker's sawed-off shotgun and the rounds that followed from another's MAC-10, the motorcycle starting to smoke and then catching fire, again forcing Artie to bolt as the cycle exploded, swallowing up two more parked nearby in a violent chain reaction.

Through all the chaos Artie was able to raise his Steyr AUG and gun down another one of the bikers that had been gunning for Johnny and then he struck the guy with the sawed-off in the leg, sending him skidding along the ground and forcibly dismounting his Nightblade, the motorcycle flipping violently in three chaotic rotations before it finally came to a rest in a nearby ditch. That left just one biker and Artie wasted no time cutting him down as the man struggled to reload his empty submachine gun.

"Gah! My limo…use that," Johnny rasped, his bloody hand reaching for the aforementioned vehicle.

As tempting as it was to leave the slimy loan shark there to rot, he remembered the man's words and again scooped him up, dragging him over to the limo, yet not giving a damn how badly he cried out in pain with every step they took.

_"Serves you right to be the one suffering for once, asshole," _Artie said opening the back door and tossing the man inside.

"Take me over to the Tumblety Medical Center…over in Red Sands…step on it…I ain't got much blood left in me…y'know," Johnny spoke between ragged gasps.

"Whatever you say asshole," Artie replied climbing into the limo's driver's seat and switching the radio to Rewind FM, playing "The Final Countdown" by Europe. Shifting the limo into reverse he struggled to move the lengthy vehicle around and in the process ran over the biker with the mangled leg before finally straightening the car out and pulling out of the gravel parking lot and onto the nearby dirt road.

Artie looked in the rearview mirror to see Johnny had pulled himself onto one of the seats and lay on his side, his blood quickly pooling up beneath him even as he held a hand over his wound to apply pressure.

"Gah…fucking grease monkeys…" he groaned weakly.

Artie ignored the man and sped along the trail, eventually making his way onto a narrow suspension bridge over a boggy creek and blowing past a tractor driven by an unkempt hillbilly. The road he drove on was thin, constantly winding and full of potholes, the limo rocking violently and causing Artie's head to nearly bounce against the roof, held in place by his seatbelt.

"Gah…will you…fucking take it easy…I'm dying back here…don't you know," Johnny wheezed.

"Like I didn't know that dipshit," Artie replied, his voice barely heard over the music and the violently rocking.

Eventually he would finally make his way back onto a smoother surface, but it was then his eyes widened.

"Shit, more of the Children!" Artie shouted, the aforementioned bikers having formed a blockade on the main road, all of them armed to the teeth.

"This limo is bulletproof…just fucking drive damn it," Johnny called out from the back.

The bullets pinged off the limo's surface and a few caused the windshield's glass to spider web, yet the hitman sped forth and plowed through the obstacle, killing two bikers in the process. It would not be smooth sailing from there as a loud pop rang out and the limo jolted violently, sideswiping a Walton truck.

"Gah! This ain't fucking bumper cars numb nuts!" Johnny shouted in pain.

"Try telling that to them assholes!" Artie shouted back, looking in his rearview mirror to see that the Children were mounting their motorcycles and beginning to chase after them. Unfortunately the limo was still rocking violently thanks to its popped rear tire and its speed was reduced, enabling a gutsy biker to ride up alongside them while another who was riding bitch peppered them with rounds from a TEC-9.

Loud booms came from the right as another Cock had withdrawn a sawed-off shotgun and was blasting the opposite side. Once again he was in a tight spot and needed to think fast as the limo was violently jolted by another deep pothole.

Another narrow bridge was coming up and the Children seemed to fire at a more frenetic pace, their bullets causing the glass to spider web even more. Whoever installed this glass had done a piss poor job and it was going to cost Artie if he didn't act.

Approaching the narrow bridge, the hired gun made a desperate move and swerved the limo hard to his left, sending the Streetfighter skidding into the grass and off the ledge, both the driver and his passenger flying into the river below.

Artie mentally patted himself on the back for having one threat down; looking over to a road sign letting him know Red Sands was two miles away from him. He needed to deal with these last Children fast or else they would hunt him all the way to the medical facility.

A loud thud came from above and the ceiling dented above him as one of the Children had managed to land on the rooftop and was chipping away with what he assumed had to be a pickaxe.

"Not today asshole," Artie said again shaking the limo violently. A loud crash came from his right, a telltale sign he had dispatched the other biker. It took a few more shakes, followed by the limo slamming into an oncoming Yosemite before the plucky biker was finally thrown from the roof and landed on the ground with a bone crunching thud.

Artie gasped loudly as he shot his eyes open, his hands still clamped down on the steering wheel. The limo's front end buckled under the force of the collision and the engine was smoking, telling him their ride was totaled.

"Hey buddy, you alright in there?" a voice called out. It was the Yosemite's driver, a middle-aged man in a yellow shirt and red baseball cap.

Artie looked over to see the sturdy pickup truck was still in fairly decent shape and would suit them well. Kicking his door open, the hired gun emerged with the Steyr AUG in hand, pointing it at the driver.

"Hey man, take it easy! I'm sorry, but I really didn't see you coming until it was too late!" the man shouted, getting on his knees with his hands in the air, "Please don't shoot me! I won't tell anybody!"

"Get the fuck outta here!" Artie shouted, firing the assault rifle into the air. The man quickly complied, rising to his feet and running into the nearby field.

Johnny was still alive and groaned weakly from the back, "Why…we stopping?"

Artie wasted no time and ran over to the back door, reaching in and yanking the bleeding loan shark out, dragging him over to the Yosemite and forcing him inside. Running over to the driver's side he quickly climbed in and shifted the truck into reverse before making a Y-turn and speeding towards Red Sands, not even bothering to change the country station currently playing.

"Heh heh…never thought I'd say this…but you're…actually…worth something…for once," Johnny groaned before coughing up more blood onto the window he was slumped against.

"Don't get too comfy Johnny, you know I still think you're a fucking asshole above anything else," Artie harrumphed as he sped along the lonely country road as a few houses came into view, letting him know he was getting closer to town. It wasn't much longer before they were coming to the main street of the relatively sleepy community of Red Sands.

His foot still on the gas, Artie didn't even bother to stop for a guy who was about to cross the street with his Yorkshire terrier, the frightened dog walker quickly scooping up his beloved pooch and running for safety, instead he was focused solely on reaching the medical center, a sign on a telephone pole directing him to take a left. He did so and was soon pulling up to the one story Tumblety Medical Center, skidding the truck to a halt in front of the automatic doors.

Quickly climbing out, Artie pulled himself around the crumpled front end and made his way over to let Johnny out, the bleeding loan shark nearly tumbling to the pavement until his associate caught him and dragged him towards the front doors, where by now two nurses had arrived to see what the commotion was all about.

"This man's been shot! He needs help right away," Artie called out to the two ladies. By then two orderlies had overhead the racket and were rushing for a nearby gurney.

"What happened to this man?" a doctor asked rushing over as the wounded loan shark was being lifted onto the gurney, quickly rushing over to check the man's pulse. It was obvious what had happened judging by Johnny's wound and the amount of blood he was covered in, yet as it was anywhere they needed an explanation.

"Hunting accident," Artie choked out, knowing he probably sounded like a complete and utter fool, yet it was the first thing that came to his mind and his mouth acted before he could catch himself.

"Heh, must be a hunter from Vinewood. Who else dresses like that to go hunting?" the doctor chuckled, "Don't worry sir; we'll have your friend dealt with immediately. He's very lucky to have someone like you by his side."

Artie bristled at the comment and immediately felt sick to his stomach.

_"Jesus Fucking Christ, I am not this man's friend you fucking twat waffle! This guy is nothing but a fucking rectal cancer in my life and if I had my way, he would have been fucking left to die back in that shithole!" _the hitman thought to himself as the doctor rushed after the gurney and they soon disappeared through a set of double doors.

Muttering another curse to himself, Artie made his way to the nearest bathroom and proceeded to wash all the blood from his hands.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," he whispered, the same phrase repeating through his head fifty million times. _"Goddamn that fucking cocksucker Johnny. He had to pick on my cousin of all people. Damn it Gino, why couldn't you just get your fucking shit together? Yeah, I know you were probably depressed after Bella left you, but you should've kept a goddamned hold on yourself. All you've done is dig yourself deeper into a hole and now you're dragging me, Zeke and hell, even Randy down with you."_

Artie managed to wash the last of the blood away from his hands and looked into the mirror, his brow furrowing.

His dark eyes were filled with hatred: hatred for Johnny, hatred for the Children of Chaos, hatred for all of Rushmore City.

His jaw stiffened and his teeth gritted, stopping the scream of rage that was supposed to follow. Instead he grabbed a nearby trashcan and tossed it against the bathroom stall door, the metal door denting and the receptacle's contents spilling all over the floor.

Artie fell against the nearby wall and braced himself as his head rested against it. His pulse was racing and he wanted to kill somebody for all the shit he was being put through. He desperately wanted to walk into that operating room and put a bullet in Johnny's head, regardless of what the consequences would have been.

But then he thought of Gino, a man who had already gone through enough suffering already. It was his cooperation that was the only thing keeping the elder Cappelli alive and through everything, he was still family.

Artie gasped loudly and took a couple deep breaths, his pulse gradually returning to normal. He looked up to see he was still alone in the room and knew he had to get out of there before anybody could happen across his handiwork. He made his way back into the lobby and walked out the double doors, ignoring the tow truck crew that had arrived to collect the smashed up Yosemite. They could keep it for all he cared; right now he needed to clear his head.

He walked down the street past a Krapea furniture store and an Inside Track horse betting parlor before he happened across a small mom and pop restaurant called Lilly & Larry's and went inside, thinking some food would calm him down.

The small restaurant had a western theme to it with several wooden sculptures of native chiefs and cowboys present, including the infamous outlaw Brown Bill, who robbed the town's bank back in 1883, earning his moniker after he was forced to cover himself from head to toe in pig shit so he could blend in with the muddy ground to avoid the posse sent after him. Aside from that there were numerous autographed photos of famous country singers and acoustic guitars covering the walls and Patsy Cline's "Stand by Your Man" played in the background.

It was sparsely populated for the time of day, the only other patron being some guy in a beige suit with a charcoal fedora and tortoiseshell glasses who had been in the middle of leafing through a _'Popular Schematics'_ magazine until his cell phone rang.

"Hello and welcome to Lilly & Larry's dear boy, I trust your day is going well," an elderly woman spoke up as she laid a menu down in front of him, traces of a southern twang in her voice.

"Yeah, sure," Artie lied not making eye contact with her, wanting her to be gone as soon as possible, "I'll take one of your Lucky Steaks, extra barbecue sauce. Get me an orange Sprunk too if you have any."

"Very well sonny, you just sit tight and we'll be right back," the lady said scooping up his menu, seeing the nametag that identified her as _'Lilly,'_ the same Lilly from the establishment's name. She disappeared into the nearby kitchen and the hired gun was left alone with his thoughts.

The hired gun wouldn't be alone for long as the establishment's front door flew open and three burly men came striding in like they owned the place, all of them wearing the colors of the Whiteskins MC.

"Hey Larry, your old ass in here? You owe us money remember!" the lead biker called out, overturning the nearest table and spilling its contents all over the floor.

Larry, a gaunt-looking older man wearing a sullied apron, emerged from the back with Lilly close behind, a meat cleaver in hand.

"What the hell are you punks doing back here? I told you I was done paying! We didn't come here to be bullied by a bunch of grungy sleaze bags like you! Now get outta here or I'm gonna chop your fat asses into bits!" Larry defiantly screamed.

The bikers looked to each other and laughed heartily before one of them reached over and knocked Larry to the floor with a vicious right hook. The same guy was about to stomp on his skull when Lilly threw herself over her husband.

"Please, don't hurt him!" she pleaded.

"Outta the way ya' old bag," the leader spat reaching down and grabbing her by the hair and tossing her aside, "If you were years younger, I woulda' taken you for myself, but now you're just an old fucking fossil. No way am I sticking it in your rancid, decaying, toxic cunt."

The leader then turned his attention to Larry, "Now if I didn't make myself clear enough the first time, you owe the Whiteskins some big bucks. Now are you gonna pay up? Or am I gonna have to be the one to cut your sorry old ass into strips?" he asked, producing a switchblade and running it across the old man's face.

Artie had watched in silence as the bikers brutalized the old proprietor as did the suited man in the corner, who continued scrolling along some menu on his phone as if nothing was happening.

Watching the elderly couple being terrorized made him think of how Johnny bullied Gino and it caused a fresh wave of rage to wash over the hitman. Rising to his feet he picked up the wooden chair he had been sitting on and chucked it at the closest biker, knocking the man out cold.

"What the fuck?" the second biker asked, but before he could fully turn around he was knocked to the floor by a flying kick that would have made Bruce Lee blush.

The lead Whiteskin turned around just in time to have a knee driven into his groin, followed by a spinning elbow that caught him in the side of the face. With the burly man down on the floor, Artie stomped on the man's nut sack repeatedly until he was coughing up blood. Satisfied the man was at his mercy, he grabbed him by the collar and forced him to look directly into his eyes.

"Alright asshole, now that I have your undivided attention it's time for you to listen," the hitman spat, "Now I believe these nice people are trying to make an honest living for themselves and I believe they deserve to be able to do so without being pushed around by a bunch of shitfaced grease monkeys like yourselves. Now I'm only going to tell you this once and I'm not going to fucking repeat myself, get the hell out of here and _never_ come back!"

With those last words, Artie hoisted the man to his feet and forcibly led him over to the front door, kicking him through and sending him to the pavement outside. By now the other two bikers had recovered, yet were powerless without their leader.

"You want get away with this! Nobody crosses the Whiteskins and lives!" one of the bikers shouted as they both scampered through the front door. The roar of three motorcycles followed and the men were gone.

Artie turned around to be met by the grateful owners, helping Lilly lead the battered Larry over to a nearby chair.

"Oh my god, thank you so much son," she said throwing her arms around him, "You have no idea how much trouble those hoodlums have been giving us. I wanted to get up and move outta here a long time ago, but ol' stubborn here wouldn't budge. Now I have a reason to be hopeful knowing a nice young man like you is willing to stand up for us. Have yourself a free meal on the house, hell have whatever you want!"

"Anything to help," the hired gun nodded, "I know what it is to be bullied by some asshole with too much time on his hands, so I do what I can to help others in need," he replied, satisfied he had an excuse to let out some of the frustration built up after dealing with Johnny.

"Well you just sit yourself down and we'll have something for you as soon as possible dearie," Lilly said leading him back to his chair.

"I will and thank you," Artie replied, looking over and suddenly noticing the suited man was nowhere to be found. "What the fuck?" he whispered as Lilly stepped out of earshot. _"Dude must've snuck out when I was beating those Whiteskins up, but still creepy shit nonetheless. It's like he's a fucking ghost or something."_

Artie was brought out of his thoughts by the ringing of his cell phone and he looked down to see it was Iceman.

"Oh shit, Iceman!" he blurted out quickly switching his phone on, "Hello?"

_"Dude, where the hell are you? We stopped by the car dealership and you weren't there?" _the gun runner demanded.

Artie sighed heavily, "It's a long story. I'd tell you right now, but I just got done letting out my aggression on some piss ant Whiteskins and I really don't wanna get riled up again."

_"Well alright, we've still got plenty of time to hit up some clubs. Zeke really wants to check out the 7__th__ Circle again. Whereabouts are you?" _Iceman asked.

"Red Sands," Artie replied.

_"Red Sands? What the fuck are you doing all the way over there?" _Iceman demanded before catching himself, _"Oh wait, yeah it's 'a long fucking story,' I get it. We'll be right over to pick you up."_

"Sure thing," Artie said hanging up and waiting patiently for his dinner.

XXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends yet another installment of "Rushmore City" and now it's onto my random notes as usual:

The comment Johnny makes about "wanting to slit his throat and fuck the wound" is inspired by the opening lyrics of the Slipknot song "Disasterpiece" from their 2001 "Iowa" album, one of the albums I credit with making me the hardcore metalhead that I am today.

Brown Bill is a spoof of the Wild Western outlaw Black Bart.

C.R.A.P.A. is a spoof of the NAPA auto parts chain.

Kearney is inspired by Mark Boone Junior, the guy who plays Bobby Munson from "Sons of Anarchy" and Detective Arnold Flass, Jim Gordon's corrupt partner from "Batman Begins," albeit given red hair.

That should be it so until next time, read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	40. Damn Paparazzi

Chapter 40: Damn Paparazzi

The screeching of tires filled the air as the Deimos SP took a sharp right turn onto Hymen Avenue and sped along until it came to a screeching halt in front of The Little Black Book, narrowly clipping the Bickle '76 parked out front.

"Dude this car's badass! You gotta get me one of these," Zeke said climbing out of the passenger's seat.

"Well you'd better be willing to pay me pretty damn well for said endeavor," Artie said switching off the J-Pop music that had been playing and then climbing out, "I don't work based upon respect alone, dig?"

"Heh, don't push your luck, or else I might have to convince Gino to evict your sorry ass," Zeke shot back.

Artie laughed at the comment, "Do you honestly think Gino would have the balls to do that?"

Zeke pointed his finger at his friend and went to say something, yet nothing came out. He was defeated.

"See? Case dismissed!" Artie chuckled just as his phone started ringing and he looked down to see it was Donnie.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked, only to be cut off by his overexcited cousin.

_"Cuz, get your ass over and turn on E-TV pronto! They're talking about that Beaver bastard!" _Donnnie shouted from the other end.

"Hold on," Artie said rushing around his car and pushing past Zeke into the bar, eager to learn the aftermath of his last mission for his cousin.

Stepping inside he was met by Gino, Randy, Pukin' Pete and surprisingly Lloyd Freeman, all of them amassed at the counter and watching some crappy soap opera called 'One Load to Blow.'

_"No, we can never be together Alistair! We just can't!" _some blonde with the talent level of a retarded monkey called out.

_"And why can we not be together? We share the thoughts of one another! We share the same tragedy in our lives! How can those not be the reasons for us to spend the rest of our lives together?" _the actor called Alistair (who was probably hired more so for his looks than his actual 'acting ability' as it was on most daytime TV shows) deadpanned in a monotone that would make Ben Stein vomit.

_"Because…I'm actually your sister!" _the woman called back as dramatic organ music sounded in the background.

_"Oh shit…and the rubber broke during that drunken romp we had last night!" _Alistair called back, just as Artie vaulted over the counter, eager to find out the aftermath of his latest mission. Swiping the remote he quickly changed the channel.

"Hey! We were watching that!" Gino called out.

"Well now you're watching what I want!" Artie snapped back quickly flipping through the channels.

"Well at least turn back within 5 minutes! They're supposed to reveal if Victor comes out of his coma after Ivana stuck that firecracker up his ass last week!" Randy called out in the back, followed by another drunken gurgle from Pukin' Pete.

Pictures of a very disheveled-looking Dustin Beaver appeared on the screen followed by a woman's voiceover.

_"-there is no word as to what could have prompted the teen singing sensation's sudden turn to the dark side, but one thing is definitely clear, he was grounded for an entire week with no phone, no TV, no video games, no friends and no imported mineral water," _the woman continued as the very pictures Artie had taken were now shown on the screen, all of the seemingly squeaky clean teen left in unflattering positions.

_"Dude, are you fucking seeing this? This is fucking classic man! You've really outdone yourself!" _Donnie called out from the other end, cackling maniacally.

"I have the TV on like you said. Of course I'm seeing it," Artie replied as the woman's voiceover resumed.

_"There is no word yet on whether or not Mr. Beaver will be dropped by his record label and lose his string of endorsements. His representatives are keeping mum on the subject-" _she continued before Artie walked away from the bar, leaving Randy to eagerly scoop the TV remote back up and switch his soap opera back on.

_"Heck of a job Cuz! I'm damned proud of you!" _the elder Cappelli chimed.

"I do what I can," Artie nodded just as his phone beeped, indicating he had another incoming call, "Uh hey, I'm gonna have to talk to you later. I've got another call coming in," Artie replied.

_"No prob Cuz! Stop your ass by the club again sometime soon!" _Donnie replied before hanging up.

Artie pushed the button to take his other call, "Hello?"

_"Artie, is that you?" _a familiar voice spoke from the other end.

"Dal?"

_"Yeah, it's me. Tell me, are you doing anything today?" _the pit fighter asked from the other end.

"Uh no, why?" Artie asked looking around the bar as Zeke walked in and assumed his usual post as two patrons entered, both of them police officers.

_"Meet me over at the Superstar Café in Sawyer Gardens. I might have some work for you," _Dal replied.

Normally Artie would have inquired as to what kind of work he would be dealing with, but then he looked over to the cops and knew he had to be careful. "Alright man, I can be over. I'm at my cousin's bar, so I might be a while."

_"No prob, plenty of nice 'scenery' around here if you catch my drift. See you then," _Dal said before hanging up.

Artie walked out of the bar without saying a word to anyone, wanting to get as far away from those cops as fast as possible. Making his way outside he climbed into his Deimos SP and still had on The Traveler 107, now playing "Kuroi Namida" by Anna Tsuchiya. He obeyed the speed limit as he pulled away from the bar and when he was confident he was far enough away; he slammed his pedal to the metal, cutting off a city bus and making the driver scream something at him in Spanish, to which the hitman replied with a middle finger raised high and proud.

He sped along the Eastwood Bridge and eventually entered the Sawyer Gardens district, the Superstar Café being one of the first buildings he spotted. He eventually pulled into the parking lot to the building's left and made one last check over everything before activating the car alarm and making his way inside.

The interior was no different from the Lancaster venue he frequented back in Liberty City. It consisted of two floors, the lower level furnished with basic dining tables and chairs, as well as a bar and a stage, where at the moment a busker was playing some jazz tune on his saxophone. The area was reasonably packed with waitresses scuttling back and forth between tables and several groups of patrons congregated around the plasma screen TVs to watch the football game taking place between the Rushmore Juggernauts and the Carcer City Unicorns, yet there was no sign of Dal anywhere.

He eventually made his way up the nearby stairs to the second floor, a posh setting with fancier sofas and tables. It was towards the back of the room he spotted Dal on a sofa sitting between two ladies, dressed in a black button-up shirt with gold designs and dark slacks. The pit fighter noticed Artie and waved him over.

"Hey brother, what's up?" he called out before turning to address the ladies, "I'm sorry, but business before pleasure. Gimme a call later," he said making the phone gesture with his right hand.

"You know we will," one of the ladies giggled before walking away.

"So what's up? You said you had some work for me," Artie said taking a seat on a plush chair across from Dal.

"Yeah I do," Dal said leaning towards him, "I don't know if Zeke told you this or not, but I run my own bodyguard service on the side and one of my guys called in sick. I'm dealing with a high profile client and I can't afford to lose this contract. I saw what you did down in the Bear Cage and I knew you would be perfect for this job. So what do you say my good man? You in?"

"How much we talking?" Artie asked reclining in his chair.

"I can get you 5 G's for this. You do well and there might be more work for you in the future," Dal said pulling out a photograph of an attractive Asian woman in a very skimpy pink bikini, the top barely covering her 34 D-sized breasts.

"Is that Alexandra Akimoto?" Artie asked.

"Indeed it is, Alexandra Akimoto, the Asian Sensation," Dal grinned.

Alexandra Akimoto was one of the most popular porn stars in the world, famous for her roles in classics such as "The Bukkake Bandit," "Naked Ninja," "Creampieland," "Holes of Glory," and "Alexandra's Awesome Anal Adventures." Randy had most of his hard drive dedicated to her 'legendary exploits and like many others, dreamed of one day being able to shoot 'the mother of all anal scenes' with her. It was safe to say she would soon upend Candy Suxxx as the undisputed 'Sage of the Sleazy Screen.'

"She's throwing a party over at the Koko Nut's in Jefferson Beach to celebrate the release of her first ever greatest hits compilation and well…you know how aggressive porn fans can be," Dal chuckled.

"Don't I know it," Artie replied, again thinking of how he walked in on Randy the other night while he was in the middle of watching a lesbian threesome scene featuring the aforementioned Alexandra Akimoto and two other actresses on a tropical beach. Needless to say, it had been quite the horrific sight he had spent the past few nights trying to block out of his mind with a few good rounds of hard drinking. The mention of it was reopening all his old wounds.

"It'll be a cinch. All you'll have to do is keep an eye on her and maintain the peace while she talks to a few reporters, takes a few pictures and signs a couple autographs. The only thing is that you'll need to stow your guns, we've already gotten enough flack for that in the past, but if someone gives her a hard time, there's nothing that says you can't give them a good punch to the face," Dal said reaching into his pocket and placing a pair of brass knuckles on the table for Artie to take. "Normally this isn't something I'd say, but I'd rather see somebody alive with a broken nose rather than a stiff in a body bag, just isn't good publicity," Dal said putting Alexandra's photo away.

"Alright, I'll do it," Artie said scooping up the brass knuckles and placing them in his pocket, "Do I have to dress up for this?" he asked looking down to the clothes he was wearing, a pair of olive drab cargo pants, a light green and white striped polo shirt and a pair of black and white athletic shoes. _"At least my watch looks expensive," _he thought to himself, staring down at his chromed Crowex wristwatch.

"Nah, don't worry about it, sometimes the plain clothes approach adds a good element of surprise," Dal said reaching into his pocket and producing a business card, "Anyways, this is where to find her. I'll give her a call and let her know you're on your way."

"Sure thing, pleasure doing business with you," Artie said standing up and shaking Dal's hand.

Artie made his way out of the café and back towards his waiting Deimos SP. He looked down to the card he was given and saw he would be going over to the Hyacinth district to pick her up and he climbed into his car, switching the radio to Old School 97.3, playing "Swass" by Sir Mix-a-Lot, pulling into traffic and cutting off a Borgnine-owned cab, sending its driver plowing through a line of Hare Krishnas.

He blew through a red light and caused another pileup as he took a right into the Washington Commons district, taking a 'shortcut' through the courtyard outside of the city hall and prompting a group of protesters amassed before the front steps to scatter before finding his way back to a street and cutting off a Taco Mobile.

After cutting off a few more motorists and a few other 'shortcuts' it was only a matter of time before Artie was entering the Hyacinth district and pulling up in front of an affluent ivory structure called Ichabod Towers.

Quickly exiting his car he jogged over and made his way inside the building where he found himself in a luxurious foyer with a marble front desk manned by a lone clerk, who from all the electronic blips and explosions sounded to be in the middle of playing a video game.

"Die foul scourge of Azagthoth!" the man hissed through gritted teeth before a _'zing'_ noise called out and he let out a strangled "Motherfucker!" before collapsing back in his leather swivel chair.

"Don't you have a job to be doing, kid?" Artie chuckled as he approached the desk, causing the young man to suddenly snap to attention, spilling over his Gunkacchino all over his uniform in the process.

"And how may I help you, sir?" the man squeaked out as the caffeinated beverage scalded his exposed flesh.

"Alexandra Akimoto, I'm here to pick her up," Artie stated.

"Oh, you're here for her, oh yeah she's quite the hot piece of ass, don't you agree?" the clerk giggled.

"Yes pervert, I'm here for her. Now are you going to do your job and tell me where to find her, or do I have to report your sorry slacker ass to your boss. Then again, there are other things I could do to you if you don't," Artie said slipping on the brass knuckles.

"Yes, yes," the clerk blurted out before consulting the directory, "She's on the sixth floor, Apartment 636! Oh, and can you have her sign this for me please?" the young man asked, pulling out an enormous purple dildo.

"Fuck no! I don't even wanna know where that's been! Jesus Fucking Christ put that thing away!" Artie hollered at the perverted slacker before stomping towards the nearest elevator and slapping the button down repeatedly, wanting to get as far away as possible. When the elevator's ding rang out he threw himself inside and pushed the button to take him up.

Ignoring the god awful elevator music, Artie made his way towards Alexandra's apartment and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" a voice called out from within.

"Artie Cappelli, Dal Morrow sent me over to pick you up," Artie answered looking around knowing that clerk probably wasn't the only pervert in the same building as a renowned porn star.

The click of a door unlocking sounded and he was greeted by an attractive woman in a pink bathrobe.

"Hello there," Alexandra greeted him pleasantly, "Terribly sorry, I just got out of the shower," she said wiping her still wet hair with a dampened towel, "C'mon in. Make yourself at home."

"Thank you," Artie said stepping into a well-furnished living area with a 100 inch plasma screen TV along one of the walls, a fish tank filled with various exotic koi fish, a rack lined with various expensive alcoholic beverages, oriental paintings adorning the walls and even a baby grand piano in one of the corners.

"_Who knew taking it in every hole could earn you _that_ much money," _Artie said making his way over and sitting down on a comfortable leather couch.

"I'm just getting prepared. I'll be out in a little bit," Alexandra said before making her way into a nearby bedroom, "Feel free to watch some TV if you want," she called out before shutting the door behind her.

"Don't mind if I do," Artie said slinking back into the comfortable couch and reaching for the remote, switching the TV on to a news broadcast in progress outside of a Burger Shot.

"_A high speed street race took a tragic turn last night in Kasich when two motorists spun out of control and crashed into a nearby Burger Shot. As it stands, six people including the two drivers are dead with ten bystanders injured. This incident is just the latest in a string of street races that have met violent ends. Local officials have prevailed upon Mayor Walker to take action on the matter, saying they are sick and tired of all the expenses it has been causing them. The mayor plans to propose an 'aggressive' measure against offenders where a fine will be the least of their worries."_

The scene switched over to a taped off area in a back alley where several police officers stood around as a covered body was loaded into the back of a waiting Romero, one cop having to stop his routine to shoo away a hobo digging through a trashcan.

"_In other news, the Rushmore Ripper has struck again, this time taking his antics over to the New Leningrad district. The killer's body count has now risen to 15 and citizens are getting fed up with Police Commissioner Dennis Rowe's perceived 'lack of action.' As a result, it has been announced the nationally renowned citizens' patrol group the Avenging Angels will be forming a chapter here in Rushmore City-"_

Artie shut the TV off as the bedroom door opened and he found his jaw hitting the floor.

Alexandra stepped out wearing a fancy silver mini-dress that glowed under the lights, showing off her toned legs and barely covering her private area and low cut enough to show off her ample cleavage. Putting it bluntly, it left very little to the imagination and it showed just why so many men (and women) fantasized about sleeping with her.

"I'm ready whenever you are," she purred seductively.

"Right," Artie said pushing himself to his feet, wiping away the trickle of drool that had formed at the right corner of his mouth.

The duo made their way back into the hall and to the elevator, followed by a trip through the foyer that saw the perverted clerk undressing Ms. Akimoto with his eyes, only to be halted when Artie gave him the 'throat slitting' gesture.

"Right this way," Artie said gesturing towards the Deimos SP and unlocking the doors with his automatic device.

"Quite the ride you've got here," Alexandra remarked.

"Thank you, got it just the other day," Artie nodded climbing in and buckling up, "Definitely think she'll be serving me well," he said starting the car up, Public Enemy's "Bring the Noise" blaring over the speakers as Artie pulled into traffic.

"So been around Rushmore long?" Alexandra asked starting up the conversation.

"Nope, I was just passing through when things went to shit so now I'm stuck here until the feds lift the barricade. For now I'm just running around doing 'random things,'" Artie replied not caring to discuss the subject any further.

"Have you ever considered porn?" Alexandra asked, her tone sounding serious.

The question caught Artie off guard, causing him to nearly swerve in front of an oncoming Avenger.

"Excuse me?" he croaked out.

"I seriously think you should consider it. You're very handsome and the way you carry yourself, you must be packing quite a bit 'down there' and carry a lot of stamina. The ladies would love you," the pornographic actress replied, her tone turning flirtatious.

"Umm, I appreciate the sentiment…but I'm kind of with somebody right now," Artie replied, feeling his stomach tighten as he came to a halt at a red light.

"Not the 'open relationship' type? That's a shame. Was going to say, I'd be up for conducting a 'screen test' with you otherwise," she winked.

"Umm yeah…sorry I don't think my girlfriend would like that," Artie replied, torn between his feelings for Gladys and the rampaging hormones that told him to find a secluded alley, rip this lady's clothes off and bend her over the hood.

"_Get a grip Artie. You have a woman in your life now. You're just here to do your job," _he told himself as they came to the off ramp that would take them to Jefferson Vale.

"Well you must not be too serious in your relationship," Alexandra purred while admiring her own reflection in the side mirror.

"Wh-What are you talking about?" Artie asked staring incredulously towards her, nearly running down an emo kid when he again crossed onto the sidewalk.

"You don't sound sure of yourself when you talk about her. You're always 'uh' this and everything. C'mon, you only live once," she said reaching over and gripping his member.

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" Artie again asked as she reached over to unzip his pants, again jerking the steering wheel.

"Haven't you seen what I do in 'Road Banger 3?'" she giggled playfully as she pulled his dick out of his boxers and started to tug on it, starting out nice and slow before picking up force.

Artie kept his hands on the steering wheel as he tried to focus on the road ahead of him, yet it was easier said than done as he grew hard in her hands. He eventually came to a stoplight and slammed down on the brake pedal, almost crossing into the crossing ahead.

"Why so serious? You need to relax for once in your life," Alexandra giggled while tossing her hair to the side and lowering her head onto his crotch, her mouth enveloping his entire hard member.

"_Gladys would kill me if she found out about this," _he said as her head began bobbing up and down, _"but fuck, she's so good."_

Artie sat at the stoplight groaning loudly and squirming, so entranced by the oral pleasure he was receiving until a loud honk from behind startled him.

"Hey asshole, the light's green!" the motorist behind him shouted.

Artie was about to shout something back to him when he looked over and noticed the old couple in the '92 Elegant next to him, the woman staring at him awkwardly while her husband waved back.

"Don't mind us son, you just keep on doing what you're doing!" he called out.

Artie then looked over to his right to notice a few streetwalkers had stopped to see what was going on.

"Git-R-Done!" shouted an overweight man in a red and black plaid shirt.

"Lucky bastard!" called out a scrawny man in a yellow button up shirt.

His cheeks reddening in embarrassment, Artie slammed the gas pedal, causing Alexandra to jump for a second, but she just as quickly resumed her 'task at hand' and wrapped her mouth tighter around his dick, assaulting it more fervently as he went to take a sharp turn, the angry motorist of a Stratum honking at him when he took the turn a little too widely.

"Oh shit…I'm gonna cum!" Artie called out as he felt himself squirming while struggling to maintain his grip on the steering wheel, his hands shaking.

Alexandra continued working him over, her head bobbing up and down much faster as her tongue snaked around his shaft. He couldn't take it anymore as he gripped the steering wheel as tight as he could, his knuckles turning white and his bones threatening to pop out through the skin. In a few short seconds he called out in pleasure and exploded in her mouth. She continued licking him over for a few seconds afterward to make sure a single drop wasn't wasted.

"See sexy, it's not that bad," she said pulling her head away and reaching into her purse for a tissue.

"That was great," Artie groaned as they entered the Jefferson Beach district and immediately he could see the rays of spotlights moving back and forth. Not wanting to be caught with his pants down in the literal sense, he pulled over into a nearby E-Z Mart and quickly pulled them back up and made sure Alexandra left no lipstick smudges before zipping them up, the porn starlet looking into the overhead vanity mirror as she reapplied her lipstick.

Reentering traffic, the hitman eventually came to Koko Nut's and found the place crowded beyond capacity. Media vans and limos were parked all along the curbs as several celebrities already walked the red carpet and mingled with the paparazzi while signing autographs for fans and posing for pictures. There was no room to park and Artie was forced to park a block away from the club.

"Guess we're walking the rest of the way," Artie said turning his car off and exiting, "Just stay by me and things should be fine," he said slipping on his brass knuckles.

"You got it handsome. After this is over, you'll _want_ to stay by me whenever you can," Alexandra giggled.

Artie and Alexandra made their way to the boardwalk entrance that led to the club, immediately finding themselves swarmed by the media. The hired gun raised his hands in an effort to keep an ample amount of space between the paparazzi and the actress. He was blinded by the insane amount of flashes and was soon using his hands to feel his way around, bumping into several reporters in the process.

"Hey, watch it dickhead!" one of the reporters screamed, only to receive a shove to the ground for his troubles.

Another reporter managed to break through the mob and stick her microphone in Alexandra's face, "Ms. Akimoto, I have a question. What does it feel like to work with the protégé of renowned porn director Steve Scott for your forthcoming sequel to 'Carpet Munchers from Mars?'"

"Tex Bronze is a visionary genius. Whereas Steve Scott shot for the moon, Tex is shooting for Uranus," Alexandra replied before moving on.

They moved further along to be approached by some nerdy-looking guy who looked like he had just crawled out of his mother's basement, armed with a camera phone and a severe case of bad breath. "Ms. Akimoto, is it true that you will soon be allowing fans to participate in a future project with you? If so, I am volunteering myself to be your next co-star! What do you say?"

"I'd say you need to discover an invention called 'breath mints,'" Alexandra replied before trying to move on.

"Aw c'mon, I've started taking those blue pills recommended by Ron Jeremy," the young man said before lowering his camera phone and going to unzip his pants, "Here, let me show you!"

Artie rushed over and got in the man's face, "Hey pal, she said she's not interested. Now don't you have some Magic & Monsters convention to crawl back to? Huh? Beat it!"

The nerd responded by reaching for a nearby Commander Kidd bottle, "Fuck you asshole!" he shouted before delivering a weak toss which Artie easily ducked. The hired gun then grabbed the man by the shirt collar and tossed him over the railing into the water below.

"Take a fucking bath while you're at it!" Artie called back before moving on.

Alexandra moved further along the boardwalk waving to her adoring fans and stopping to pose for a few pictures before being approached by some slack jawed hillbilly with a large 40 oz. in one hand.

"Hey Alex, look at me!" the man shouted before attempting to pour the liquid into his mouth, but getting most of it all over himself.

"Move along pal. You've got nothing to see here," Artie said going up and getting in the man's face, but soon wishing he hadn't when he took a whiff of the man's body odor.

"Heh, fuck you city slicker!" the man shouted before breaking his bottle on a nearby wooden bollard and attempting to stab Artie, only to receive a right hook to the nose for his problems, sending him retreating into the shadows like a scolded dog.

They continued to move along the boardwalk and were nearing the entrance when a middle-aged man in a white windbreaker ran up pushing his way through several onlookers. He looked like he hadn't seen sunlight in ages, coupled with short black hair worn in a really bad comb over and thick glasses he was likely blind without.

"You never return my calls Alexandra, why?" the man called out, sounding like he was about to burst into tears. "You and I were meant to be together. Why can't you just see it how it is?" the man spoke in a dull monotone.

"Pal, you seriously need to get to stepping or else something bad's gonna happen to you," Artie said getting in the man's face.

The man said nothing to him treating him like he wasn't there. Instead he continued to stare at Alexandra, "My precious Alexandra…if I can't have you, then no one can," the man said before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a Colt 45.

"Gun! Alex watch out!" Artie shouted to the porn star before grabbing the man by the wrist and shoving his hand upward as he pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang out loudly and many onlookers panicked and scattered. Artie drove his fist into the man's gut several times until he was coughing up blood before he delivered a final uppercut that broke the man's jaw and then grabbed him by the coat, tossing him over the boardwalk's railing and into the water.

"Artie, is it all clear?" Alexandra asked looking around nervously.

"It's okay, he's gone," Artie replied noticing they were near the club entrance, "Now I believe you have a party to attend."

After talking with a few more less rowdy fans, posing for a few more pictures and signing a few more autographs, the duo finally reached the club and made their way inside.

The interior of Koko Nut's was fairly upscale with a packed bar and restaurant area, in addition to a gaming area lined with several pool tables, electronic dartboards, arcade cabinets, gambling machines and an air hockey game. The atmosphere was lively as a euro trash D.J. pumped in house music over the club loudspeakers and the stench of weed filled the air as several partygoers took bong hits simultaneously.

A waitress clad only in a grass skirt and coconut bra approached Artie with a tray full of shots, offering him one he accepted without hesitation. He downed the shot, which turned out to be some heavy stuff that temporarily blurred his vision, yet he calmed down a second later when everything went back to normal.

"Hey Artie, come over here and meet my friends!" Alexandra called out from a lower portion, seated on a plush red couch surrounded by several other scantily-clad women, all of them saying hi to Artie and waving him over.

"_Sometimes it's actually good to be me," _Artie thought to himself while descending the staircase and making his way over.

"Ladies, this is Artie," Alexandra said introducing him before motioning to the others one by one, "These are my friends, this is Carina Constance," she said motioning to an attractive fair-skinned brunette.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," the woman replied in a thick Czech accent.

"This is Kathy Kang," she said motioning to another attractive brunette with sky blue eyes.

"Wow you're handsome, where did you say you found this guy again?" Kathy asked.

"This is Alexia Trevor, she was my co-star in 'Holes of Glory,'" she said motioning to a tall dark-haired woman with an ample chest barely contained by her lime green tanktop.

"Do you do porn yourself?" she asked looking him up and down.

"And this is Jacinda Jacobs," she said motioning to another busty, yet shorter dark haired woman in a pink one-piece dress.

"Hi there, glad you could join us," she smiled.

"C'mon, have a seat Artie," Alexandra said taking him by the hand and sitting him down next to her.

"Really?" Artie asked sitting down next to her, only to be taken by surprise as Kathy suddenly sat down on his lap.

"Alex was just in the middle of telling us how you were on the way over. I _really_ think you seriously need to consider a career in porn," Kathy whispered into his ear before licking the lobe.

"_Damn it Artie, how do you keep finding yourself in these kinds of situations. You'll never be able to get married if this keeps happening to you. Christ, even if you shaved your head bald and went to join some monastery out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere the nuns would be wanting a piece of you," _Artie thought to himself before another shot glass was suddenly shoved in his face.

"You're looking a little tense there cowboy. Here, maybe this'll take the edge off," Alexia said offering him the drink.

"I really don't know. I'm supposed to be Alex's ride back home," Artie replied.

"Aw c'mon, you don't have to drink too much. Just have one drink, just to take the edge off," Jacinda interjected while Carina snuck up behind him and began massaging his shoulders.

"C'mon man, take the shot!" a guy called out from nearby and a few others joined in egging him on. To further the encouragement, "Shots" by LMFAO began blaring over the loudspeakers.

"Ah, why the fuck not?" Artie finally bowed to the peer pressure before Alexia could start pouring the shot down his throat.

One shot eventually led to two shots, followed by a third and so forth and it would go on throughout the night, one which involved Artie making out with all of Alexandra's friends and several more to boot. Eventually the wild revelry led to the club's hot tub while all of its occupants were still fully clothed, a friendly arm wrestling competition which saw the loser having to do an entire mug in one sitting, and so much more chaos that would all become one huge blur to Artie.

XXXXX

Electronic ringing rocked his world, forcing Artie Cappelli wide awake.

"Gah…who the fuck is calling me?" he groaned, feeling as if someone had taken a baseball bat to his head. It was then he suddenly noticed the music was still playing on his radio and when his eyes opened all the way he took notice of his own disheveled appearing in his car's rearview mirror.

"Shit," he blurted out, realizing he had been slumped over in the driver's seat of his Deimos SP, stripped down to his boxers and no sign of Alexandra anywhere.

"Where the fuck am I?" he asked himself, noting he was also nowhere near Koko Nut's. "What the fuck all happened last night?" he asked again, this time taking note of his clothes being piled up on his passenger seat with a folded up piece of paper on top of them. Reaching over he opened the note and read it quietly to himself:

_Artie,_

_My god you were amazing last night. Me nor the girls can barely walk and we all have you to thank for an incredible time. Call me sometime! XOXOXO_

_Alex_

Included on the note was also her cell phone number and personal e-mail address and he tucked the piece of paper away, his cell phone still ringing.

"Who the fuck is it?" he asked himself again looking down to the ID screen to see it was Lloyd Freeman. Switching on his phone he decided he would see what was up. "Hello?"

"_Kid, where the fuck are you?" _Lloyd Freeman hissed from the other end, his frantic breathing and he sniffed repeatedly, a telltale sign he had been doing cocaine.

Artie squinted his eyes over to a nearby road sign telling him he was currently over in Chinatown and was behind Mr. Fuk's Rice Box, noting the employee who eyed him warily as he hauled a trash bag over to the nearby dumpster.

"I'm over in Chinatown-" Artie was replying before he was rudely cut off by a manic outburst.

"_What the fucking hell are you doing over in Chinatown?" _Freeman screamed from the other end, only to halt himself a second later. _"What the hell are you doing over in Chinatown?" _he repeated in a whispered tone.

"I don't know. I just woke up over here," Artie replied.

"_Well you need to get your fucking ass over here pronto! Someone's out to get me!" _Freeman half-cried from the other end before sniffing repeatedly.

"You sure that's not just the coke talking?" Artie replied feeling irritated as his head pounded from the massive hangover.

"_Kid, I'm serious! I was leaving my group therapy session and I saw some Sabre Turbo following after me. It's been following me all around and I had to ditch my car so I could get the fuck away," _Mr. Freeman gasped, sounding like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. _"Look, I don't know what to tell you kid, but I'm fucking serious here! Someone is out to get me!"_

Artie rubbed the remaining crust out of his eyes and rose to his full height, ignoring the boom that went off inside his brain as he struggled to focus, "Okay, where are you?"

There was a pause before Freeman finally spoke, _"I'm over at the Inside Track in Red Sands. Look kid, I don't care whatever you have to do, but just get your ass over here and help me out! Please!"_

Artie looked at himself in the mirror once again. He was in no position to be playing Good Samaritan. He was in his underwear, hung over and lethargic from whatever the wild party had thrown at him, yet for some reason he felt a need to help the man out.

"Fine, I'll be over, but you're gonna have to wait," Artie replied.

"_I don't have fucking time to wait! I need you over here now!" _Freeman pleaded, only to be silenced by Artie shutting his phone off.

"Jesus Christ Artie, once again you've got one hell of a way to start your day," the hitman muttered to himself as he reached over for his shirt and proceeded to dress himself.

XXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends yet another installment of "Rushmore City," albeit a much sexualized one.

This chapter was inspired by the 'Crowd Control' side jobs that could be done in "Saints Row 2" and if this had been an actual video game, I would have it where Artie would be able to perform similar bodyguard-type jobs for Dal in exchange for extra cash.

All of the porn stars mentioned in this chapter are based around actual porn stars. Alexandra Akimoto is modeled after Asa Akira, Carina Constance is based upon Connie Carter (a super hot porn star from the Czech Republic with a killer body), Kathy Kang is inspired by Kortney Kane, Alexia Trevor is inspired by Allison Tyler and Jacinda Jacobs is inspired by Jayden James.

The scene with the Hare Krishnas being run over is a reference to GTA1 where they would be seen walking in long lines on occasion and the player could get a 'GOURANGA' bonus if he managed to run over an entire procession.

The Taco Mobile is one of my original creations for this story that serves as the official vehicle of the Taco Hell franchise. It is inspired by the real life Oscar Meyer wiener mobile, making me think of the delivery vehicle Freckle Bitch's had in "Saints Row 2" that was shaped like a basket of food.

Well I think that's pretty much it in terms of everything I have to say, so as always read and review and tune in for the next installment. This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	41. Out ta Get Me

Author's Note: Yes, the title of this chapter is a reference to the song from Guns n' Roses' "Appetite for Destruction."

Chapter 41: Out ta Get Me

Without bothering to honk his horn, Artie blew past a Pony van that had been poking along his lane and then made his way over into the opposite lane, getting back into the right traffic lane before he could collide with a Sprunk-owned Burrito.

Now fully dressed and having been able to make a pit stop at the Chinatown Ammu-Nation, Artie was racing towards the off ramp that would take him to Roosevelt Hills and from there he would make his way back to the Podunk town of Red Sands in an effort to save his drug-addled boss.

_"Could be another drug-induced delusion for all I care," _he told himself as he pulled onto the off ramp, ignoring the angry honks of a Huntley Sport he cut off, Bloodsimple's "Dead Man Walking" blaring over 94.3 CSKD. _"Christ, I can't believe I'm saving this coke fiend's life. What the fuck else do I have to gain from this aside from one man's gratitude?"_

He continued along the road, once again entering what was practically a different world as the city skyscrapers were replaced by quaint hamlets and farms, sports cars and luxury cruisers replaced by pickup trucks and various farm vehicles poking along the roads, the hitman speeding past them, not caring what the lines along the road said.

It was only a matter of moments before he was pulling into the sleepy village of Red Sands and was speeding down the main street, cutting off some haggard-looking fellow on a WMC Freeway. Unknown to the manic hired gun, the biker diverted from his previous course and began following after the Deimos SP.

Artie ended up taking an impromptu shortcut through a Beaver's drive thru before he found himself on the street containing the Inside Track horse betting parlor and he came to a screeching halt out front, startling the nearby pedestrians. He hopped out and was about to make his way inside until he was cut off by the roar of a motorcycle engine coming up behind him and coming to a halt.

"Hey you!" a voice called out from behind, no doubt someone wanting to start shit with the hitman.

Artie took a deep breath and attempted to block out the raspy voice and continued towards the parlor entrance until he felt a heavy finger tapping on his shoulder.

"Hey you, city boy! Yeah you, I'm talking to you!" the biker shouted into his ear, causing the hitman to wince.

There was no escape as he felt the strong hand gripping onto his shoulder and spinning him around to face the haggard-looking man before him.

"May I help you?" Artie asked trying to sound professional with the man, suppressing the urge to gag as the man's pungent stench struck him in the jaw.

"Yeah you can boy!" the man shouted in his face, flecks of chewing tobacco flying onto his shirt, "We don' take kindly to city slickers like you comin' 'round here with your fancy cars and your thousand dollar clothes and be pushin' us around like you're fuckin' better than everybody else!"

"Well I'm deeply sorry to have troubled you sir, but I really don't have time for this," Artie replied trying to turn around and walk away.

"Boy, I ain't through with you yet!" the biker shouted and took a swing at the hired gun, who brought his forearm up to block the man's attack and then quickly reached into his holster for his Jericho 941 and fired a shot that sailed past the man's head and shattered a nearby streetlight.

"Run along and take a fucking bath while you're at it!" Artie shouted.

"You're fucking crazy man!" the biker yelped leaping backwards and stumbling over his own motorcycle before quickly pushing himself back to his feet and bolting down the street.

Artie walked into the betting parlor and was nearly deafened by the shouts of overzealous patrons pulling for their chosen horse to win as they watched the thoroughbreds racing down the track. Aside from the people standing in line and people watching the TV screens there were a few sitting around at tables enjoying drinks and reading the local paper, all of them too preoccupied to take notice of the hitman. He paid them no mind and looked around for Lloyd Freeman, yet couldn't find the taxi proprietor anywhere.

He knew the man wouldn't have gone far with as mistrustful as he was, but then again with as high as his paranoia would go he wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near other people and it was then his eyes fell upon the men's room. Looking around to make sure nobody was looking, the hired gun made his way inside.

The parlor's men's room was in terrible condition with two urinals that looked to have been out of order since the 1950's, both their large mirrors shattered, walls covered in graffiti and three stalls, two of which had doors heavily dented. The last stall was at the far right-hand side of the room with its door shut and he could hear whimpering coming from within, followed by heavy sniffing.

He knew he had found his man and went over to knock on the stall door.

"Mr. Freeman, you in there?" he asked, only to be met by a strangled shriek.

"Who's there?! I know nothing! Leave me alone!" Lloyd Freeman cried.

"Mr. Freeman relax, it's me Artie! You called me and now I'm here," the hitman replied.

The sniffing stopped and the stall door slowly creaked open. As usual Lloyd Freeman looked like death warmed over, his shabby clothes hanging off his skin and bones frame and a face covered by a white powdery substance which Artie didn't have to second guess what it was.

"Artie, thank God! Someone's out to get me! I don't know if it's one of those Borgnine bitches or someone else! I don't fucking know, but you gotta get me outta here kid!" Lloyd squeaked out, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets with every word he spoke.

"Calm down Mr. Freeman-" Artie started before again being cut off.

"Calm down? How in the fucking hell am I supposed to calm down at a time like this?" the drug-addled businessman blurted out before again looking around and lowering his tone to a near whisper, "Someone's out to fucking get me! They wanna do God knows what to me and God knows what to my fresh carcass afterwards! How the fuck do you expect me to calm down?" he squeaked out the last part, clenching his knuckles until they were snow white.

"And you're basing all of this on you spotting some Sabre Turbo?" Artie asked incredulously, "How can you be sure when there's a million of those things out there?'

"Don't get fucking fresh with me boy!" Freeman snapped, again raising his tone before catching himself and quieting down a second later, "I've seen that same exact car every time I've left my group therapy sessions, bright red with a black racing stripe. At first I thought it was someone who worked over at the Lifeinvader office, but then I saw the camera…almost like he was casing me or something," he said, panting heavily and bracing himself against the nearby sink."

The middle-aged man stopped to catch his breath before continuing, "Who the fuck else would do that aside from a Japanese tourist or a pedophile at Dickeyland? Don't you watch the movies kid? Spies and assassins do this shit when they're looking to whack somebody! I'm a fucking dead man if you don't do something!" he half-shouted just as a shotgun blast came from outside.

"Alright, nobody fucking move! This is a holdup!" a voice shouted.

"And you're gonna be a fucking dead man if you don't keep it down," Artie hissed clamping his hand over the man's mouth and shoving him backwards against the nearest bathroom stall.

"Give us everything you got!" the same voice called out, followed by the sounds of people being roughed up.

Lloyd Freeman looked frantically to his employee and clamping his own hands over his mouth before he forced himself to ask "What are you going to do now?" his voice muffled.

Artie did not reply immediately, looking past his employer to see they were totally boxed in. Whoever these robbers were they would soon storm the bathrooms looking for anybody else and he had to think fast.

He soon remembered he hadn't stopped by Ammu-Nation for nothing and he pulled out his Jericho 941, the middle-aged man's eyes widening in horror.

"No, don't tell me you're going to!" Lloyd squeaked out, loud enough to be heard in the other room.

"Hey, did you hear that?" another robber's voice called, "That came from the men's room! B, go check it out!"

"Real smooth crackhead," Artie spat before pushing his boss back into the stall. "Hide in here. I'll deal with them."

"But someone forgot to flush!" Freeman hissed while pinching his nose.

Artie didn't answer the cab proprietor's protest and hugged the wall near the entrance, narrowly missing the tall, burly man who came rushing in, the robber wearing a creepy 'baby face' mask and carrying an AK-74 carbine. With no time to waste, he jumped the man from behind and shoved him head first into the nearby wall before clamping onto the sides of his head and snapping his neck.

Mr. Freeman was alerted by the sickly crack and he peeked his head out of the stall, his mouth falling open when he saw what had just occurred.

"Get ready to run. I'm gonna shoot our way out," Artie said snatching up the dead man's carbine along with his ammo before taking a position in front of the door. For once the cab proprietor did as he was told, nodding nervously as he took a protective position behind the gunman.

Bringing his boot upward the hitman kicked the door open with enough force to drop one of the robbers to the floor, guy wearing a hockey mask. Immediately they found themselves back in the lobby with all of the patrons rounded up into a corner nearest to the bookie's stations down on their knees with their hands behind their heads. All eyes fell upon them and the cocking of an automatic weapon sounded.

"Fuck! Kill those fuckers!" the leader called out, a tall man in a monkey mask armed with a semi-automatic Saiga-12.

Immediately three more goons would emerge, each of them wearing a cutout paper smiley face mask, Republican Space Rangers helmet and a rabbit mask respectively.

"They just had to have a fucking rabbit!" Artie shouted raising his carbine and firing upon the robbers, quickly dropping the rabbit masked goon with a barrage to the chest and the wannabe space ranger with a burst that shattered his helmet's glass.

"Fucking run now!" Artie shouted to Lloyd Freeman, laying down suppressive cover fire as the cab proprietor bolted for the front doors. He was forced to take cover behind a pillar and leapt out to fire a three shot burst that wounded the smiley faced guy before making his way for the doors.

"Don't let them get away!" the leader shouted to the hockey masked thug, who by now had regained his wits and the duo made their way after the escapees, leaving their wounded colleague to his fate.

"Quick over to the Deimos SP!" Artie said pointing towards the bright red sports car and gracefully pulling himself over the driver's side door and landing in his seat, whereas Freeman was still somewhat impaired due to his earlier cocaine usage and stumbled head over feet into the passenger's seat.

"Buckle up and hold on," the hitman said jamming the key into the ignition and firing the engine up, only to jump a second later as bullets riddled the side of his sports car.

He looked over to see both the monkey-masked leader and his accomplice had followed them outside and were firing upon them. Nearby a Boxville delivery van pulled up behind the two robbers and another accomplice wearing a nylon mask popped out of the passenger's side door firing upon them with an MP5.

"You fuckers! I just got this car!" Artie hollered back before firing a few rounds from his Jericho.

"Get us outta here!" Lloyd Freeman screamed, only to find himself nearly flung face first into the dashboard as Artie gunned the engine and pulled out, the latest gunman leaping out of the way before he could be mowed over.

"After them!" the lead robber shouted as he and his colleagues piled back into the Boxville and took chase.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Can't this thing go any faster?" Lloyd screamed.

Artie could barely hear him over roar of his engine and the sounds of Demons and Wizards' "Terror Train" pumping in over the radio, coupled with the popping of automatic fire coming from behind, more bullets riddling the Deimos SP's once pristine surface much to the hired gun's consternation.

"C'mon, c'mon kid!" Freeman screamed in his ear as the car took a sharp turn and nearly sideswiping an oncoming scrap truck.

"The fuck you think I'm trying to do?" Artie shouted back struggling to keep his hands on the wheel and nearly running over a teenager on an Endurex race bike.

The sharp turn had eaten away at the sports car's sizeable lead and it was only a second later when the Boxville finally managed to catch up and ram the car from behind, prompting another string of curses from the frightened cab proprietor. There was a loud thud a second later and the hired gun's eyes widened when he looked into the rearview mirror.

One of the robbers (the guy with the nylon mask to be exact) had leapt from the charging Boxville and landed just behind the sports car's seats, reaching down and wrapping his arm around Artie's throat.

"End of the road shit for brains!" the thug hollered, wrenching the hitman's neck backwards and causing him to nearly collide with a Bodhi that had been in their lane, the truck swerving off road.

"G-G-Get off'a him you bastard!" Lloyd Freeman screamed reaching over and pounding his fists against the burly man, much like a petite woman would attempt to fight off a rapist in all the movies. Unfortunately for him, the man's gaunt, wiry build coupled with his drug use left him unable to achieve much progress and he was backhanded for his troubles.

A loud thud came from the front as the out of control sports car slammed into a deer that had been crossing the road, again slowing its progress and enabling the Boxville to pull alongside it. The monkey masked leader shoved the door open and took aim with his Saiga-12.

Things were getting desperate as the hitman struggled to stay conscious and he did the only thing he could think of, jerking his steering wheel to the left and ramming the Boxville. It worked as the leader dropped his Saiga-12 and the other thug's grip had loosened, enabling Artie to backhand the man and speed up. After some sharp twists of the wheel the thug was finally thrown from the Deimos SP.

"Quick, open the glove box!" Artie shouted while massaging his sore throat.

Lloyd Freeman did as he was told and opened the glove box to find some sticky bombs awaiting him.

"Give them to me!" Artie ordered before ramming into the Boxville's side again.

The proprietor nodded nervously and gave him a sticky bomb just as the monkey masked thug now reached for a Sig Sauer P226. In a deft reflex, the hitman slowed his car and got behind the delivery truck. With a mighty 'oomph' he chucked the sticky bomb in front of him and it landed on the truck's rear shutter. Bringing the sports car to a near halt he pushed the detonator's button and an explosion shattered the truck's rear, sending it spiraling out of control and plowing through the nearby guardrail and falling into the water below.

"Oh my god! You did it kid! You fucking did it!" Freeman triumphantly whooped reaching over and digging his bony fingers into the hired gun's shoulder.

"Yeah," Artie grimaced while shaking himself free of the man's grip, "Let's just get you back home."

The drive back to Komojack Downs had taken a while given their distance coupled with the rush hour traffic, yet it was somewhat blissful given that Mr. Freeman had actually managed to keep his mouth shut for the entire ride back, something the hitman previously believed would have been unheard of for a crackhead.

Following a forced detour created by a stalled Pounder the Deimos SP was pulling into the cab depot's courtyard, where they were met by a worried Trudy and a few of the cabbies.

"Mr. Freeman! You didn't come back from your therapy session and we thought something happened!" the receptionist blurted out as a few of the cabbies looked on in the background (or at least tried to seem interested in the proceedings).

"Gah! Just get me a fucking drink!" the proprietor grunted as he stumbled out of the sports car, again nearly tripping over his own feet.

Artie was about to make a sarcastic comment when his wandering eye suddenly caught the glint of the descending sun off a glass surface. His eyes widened and his heart pounded.

"Sniper!" he cried out, grabbing the proprietor and pulling both of them to the ground, just in time for a silenced round to tear through the chest of a balding man in a plaid shirt that had been standing behind them.

"Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Lloyd Freeman blurted out as Trudy had taken a position behind the Deimos SP with them, shrieking frantically with her arms thrown over her head. Artie looked around to see the other cabbies had scattered and ducking behind whatever cover was available. Another loud _'plink'_ sounded and the proprietor again jumped, held back only by the hitman grabbing his ankle and pulling him back to safety.

"They're out to get me! They're out to fuckin' get me!" the proprietor whined over Trudy's ear-piercing shrieks.

The combined racket grated the younger man's nerves, yet he steeled himself long enough to peer over his sports car and towards the source of the gunfire, again seeing the glint of sunlight on the scope.

It was coming from the fourth floor of the abandoned apartment complex across the street, another bullet firing before he could make out any of the gunman's physical features. Things were getting desperate and he needed to take this guy down fast. It would call for rapid thinking and rapid movement.

Sticking the AK-74's barrel around his car he fired blindly upon the sniper before pushing himself out from behind the Deimos SP and then bolting for cover behind one of the Freeman-owned cabs. He then cut into the street, ignoring the angry honks of an Emperor-driving motorist before another gunshot rang out, sending the driver speeding away in a panic.

It had given the hitman the precious extra seconds he needed as he was now at the complex's front door, kicking it off its hinges and making his way into a crumbling building that had recently been inhabited as evidenced by the broken crack pipes, beer bottles, soup cans and used condoms littering the floor. There was no time to stop and admire the 'scenery' as he had a sniper to stop and quickly rushed down the nearest corridor and looked around until he came across a door labeled _'Rooftop Access'_ in faded paint. Kicking it open he made his way up the stairs and mentally counted to himself until he reached the fourth floor.

Wanting to get the jump on this guy he cautiously opened the door and crept down a darkened hall with some of its walls torn down, knowing the guy would be able to see him coming if he were nearby. He had enough bullets left in his current clip to take this punk down and crept along a decaying wall, kneeling as he came to the end, again listening for any movements only hearing what almost sounded like the mechanical whirr any piece of machinery in motion would make.

Artie quietly rounded another corner and peered through a hole in the wall of a nearby apartment and it was there he finally caught a glimpse of the silhouetted gunman with his back to him. Not wanting to give him a chance at firing off any lucky shots he raised the carbine and fired a three shot burst into his back.

Yet there was no cry of agony, no splash of blood and no heavy thud of a human body hitting the floor, just a splinter of plastic.

"What the fuck?" Artie asked running over and examining his target, which had turned out to be nothing more than a mannequin affixed with a Springfield M21 sniper rifle outfitted with a 6X scope and an extended clip. There was a small mechanical whirr as the rifle began moving up and down, connected to a small mechanism that moved the rifle via remote control.

But who was the controller and what did they want with Lloyd Freeman?

Artie looked down to the cab depot to see Mr. Freeman and his employees slowly emerging from cover and looking uneasily towards the apartment building and not too far away he could see a young man in a green sanitation worker's uniform putting away what appeared to be a remote control and making a beeline for the cab proprietor.

"Not on my watch," the hired gun muttered to himself and taking aim upon the sanitation worker as the cab company employees suddenly took notice of the man, now reaching into his uniform. Raising the carbine he took aim and fired another salvo that dropped the faux garbage man in a hail of gunfire, a silenced pistol clattering from his hand.

With the threat neutralized Artie made his way back down to the street to find the Freeman Cab Co. employees gathering around the dead would-be assassin. Kneeling down he began to pat the dead man's pockets and found two critical pieces of evidence.

"Well what've we got here?" he said pulling a photograph of Lloyd Freeman out of the man's back pocket, along with an actual contract from an unknown benefactor where the would-be assassin was promised fifty thousand dollars for the successful elimination of the cab proprietor, _"Heh, who knew that old crackhead would be worth that much money," _he thought to himself.

Mr. Freeman stared at the contract in a mixture of horror and awe before letting it fall to the ground and suddenly hooting in triumph.

"Ha ha! Suck on that you mysterious motherfucker whoever you are!" he shouted to the skies above, "You thought you could get one over on Lloyd Freeman, didn't you? Well you're fucking wrong! I live to fight another day and you can count on that cruel fucking world!"

"Mr. Freeman, you might wanna settle down," Trudy said placing a hand on his shoulder, only to be nearly knocked from her feet as the ecstatic cab proprietor suddenly leapt into the air with a vigor not felt in years.

"This is a most glorious occasion! One where Lloyd Freeman looks Death in the eye and spits in his face, letting that bony motherfucker know I'm not his just yet! This calls for a celebration!" and with those words the businessman disappeared back inside, only to reemerge with a bottle of whiskey in hand.

"A toast to life!" the emaciated man called out before putting the bottle to his lips and downing its contents in one gulp before tossing the glass bottle to the tarmac.

"Now who's-" Mr. Freeman started, only to lurch violently a second later and begin to spasm violently before falling to the ground with an acidic substance frothing from his mouth.

"Mr. Freeman!" Trudy screamed, "Quick, somebody call 911!"

Artie stared quietly in horror before looking down to the glass shards of the shattered bottle and the liquid within now scarring the pavement. It was then that everything began to make sense.

Someone had laced the cab proprietor's whiskey with acid, but how?

He then began staring suspiciously towards the cabbies present and began to wonder if one of them had gotten close enough to carry out the deed, knowing someone would have to have an intimate knowledge of the man's habits, including up to the kind of whiskey he preferred.

There was no time to ponder further as a younger cabbie named Ollie had reached for his i-Fruit phone and dialed 911. The authorities would be here in any minute and he would have to split, but first he had to get rid of the hitman's body.

"Alright we need to get rid of this body," Artie said stepping up and taking charge of the situation. He looked over to a freckle-faced, redheaded young man in a Beanton Catholics basketball jersey and matching turned around baseball cap, "Carrick, get that beater over there up and running," he said motioning to a rusted Buccaneer parked next to a cab, "We're gonna take it over to the car crusher in Jansport." He then looked over to Percy, "Help me with this guy. We've gotta get him outta here fast."

The cabbies did as they were told and within seconds Carrick was pulling the beater Buccaneer over and Percy was helping him stuff the assassin's body into the trunk. When all was said and done, he climbed into the driver's seat and rolled down the window to speak to Trudy one last time.

"Just act natural with the fuzz, but don't mention I was here. I don't need you guys getting dragged down into whatever this was all about."

The receptionist nodded sheepishly towards him before he rolled the window back up and then made his way over to the car crusher.

XXXXX

Unknown to all, a bum digging through a nearby trashcan had witnessed the proceedings and could only smirk quietly to himself.

Reaching into the aluminum can he pulled out a trash bag and opened it up to reveal a disassembled sniper rifle, complete with a silencer, a bottle of chloroform with a rag, a stiletto, some smoke grenades, a spare set of clothes, a small vial of acid and a cellular phone.

He took one last look around to make sure no one was nearby before hitting the speed dial.

_"Report," _spoke the voice on the other end.

"It's done. Freeman is finished," the 'bum' reported.

_"Excellent. You weren't followed were you?" _

"Just some punk who must have had it out for him too. It was way too easy to plant that photo and contract on him. Really threw the others off. That twit wasn't as smart as he thought he was," he chuckled.

_"Very well. Your payment will be deposited into your account immediately."_

"Understood," he said before switching his phone off.

Removing his wig and fake beard the true killer went about changing his clothes and within seconds he was walking the street with his bag slung over his shoulder, creating the illusion of a tenant taking his trash out.

As he walked down the street he was passed by a heavily-rusted Buccaneer headed towards nearby Jansport. When he looked into the car he immediately recognized the driver, his extensive training enabling him to memorize every little detail about him within a split second.

It was that same guy who had prevented him from assassinating Monica Belding a few weeks back, only to show up at her house after finally eliminating her along with her husband. Just the other day he had spotted him at some mom and pop joint over in Red Sands, slipping out the backdoor when he engaged in a scuffle with some of those Whiteskins ruffians.

Whoever this fellow was, he was becoming a constant presence, something that was never good in his occupation. That was okay though, he would get his if he crossed his path the hitman told himself as he made his way towards his parked Sabre Turbo.

XXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends yet another installment of "Rushmore City," albeit on a darker note. I realized I wasn't doing much with Lloyd Freeman so I decided to put him out of his misery. His death scene was inspired by "The Dark Knight" in which the Joker had Commissioner Loeb's whiskey spiked with acid.

There was also another Batman reference with the dummy rigged with a sniper rifle, that scene was inspired by "Arkham City" with the dummy hidden in the church clock tower.

All of the masks worn by the robbers (sans the Republican Space Ranger) were all references to the gangs in "Manhunt." I always liked killing the Innocentz in that game because their baby face masks always spooked the shit out of me, that plus them being sick pedophile bastards as well.

Well I think that's pretty much all on my end so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	42. Pimpin' Ain't Easy

Author's Note: Once again I apologize for my lengthy "sabbatical." I've been low on ideas for this and have been busy working on my "Deadliest Warrior: Season H" fic to keep me occupied.

But alas I have returned!

XXXXX

Chapter 42: Pimpin' Ain't Easy

The missile flew through the air and in less than a split second later, the Middle Eastern terrorist was blown to bits.

_"Goddamn you fucking noob!" _an exasperated voice called out.

"Suck on that Almighty Nerd Boy," Artie shouted back into his headset.

"Artie, quit your shit talking for once and guard my rear flank!" Zeke shouted as he waited for his minigun to power up and cut down another swath of death upon the rival team members trying to storm their base and capture their flag.

"So this is what you guys do all day, huh?" Artie called over to Randy as he typed in the commands for his character to reload his sniper rifle. Hard to believe the real life super nerd was such a badass in this fictional land, having scored a kill tally in the triple digits while Zeke was right behind him and Artie naturally trailing _way_ behind the two more experienced gamers. Now he could tell why the socially awkward genius spent so much time on these things, here he was someone important, hell he was practically a god.

"Less atterchay and more illingkay the adbay uysgay!" Randy shouted back in Pig Latin.

Artie complied with the nerd and took cover behind the smoldering wreckage of a military transport truck, his character popping out and firing a barrage into another charging terrorist, prompting the frustrated grunts of the unseen player.

_"Beginner's luck asshole!"_

Artie only chuckled at the comment.

"Little boy, do you even know how to back up half the bullshit you spew?" the hitman laughed into his headset, "Christ, you trying to overcompensate for something with a screen name like 'Dangerous-J?' I bet the only thing dangerous about you is your own body odor. Fuckin' A! I can smell the jizz on your breath over here every time you open your fucking mouth!"

_"Why you! You! You!" _the unseen slacker shouted back, grunting in defeat as he struggled to think up a comeback.

"Never mind that foul profligate, just focus on getting the flag!" Randy shouted before dropping another terrorist with a well-placed headshot from his sniper rifle.

"I got your six," Zeke called out, his character armed with a heavy machinegun and chasing after him, laying down suppressive fire, trying something different as opposed to his usual sniping duties.

"C'mon Artie, we're almost there!" Randy shouted before tossing a grenade at an enemy terrorist, "Quick, get your RPG out!"

"Sure thing Chief Longwood," Artie snickering as he referred to Randy by his 'Sworn for Battle' username. _"He wishes," _he told himself as he switched over to his RPG and fired the rocket that sent two more enemies flying and opened the door for Randy to charge forth and grab the red flag.

"Ha ha! You foul Carcer cretins have failed! Victory is ours!" Randy whooped while doing a little victory dance that saw him accidentally kicking over the coffee table and spilling the chips, salsa and sodas onto the carpet.

_"Uh…I'm from Los Santos," _Dangerous-J called out, his protest barely heard.

"Goddamn it Randy! I just washed that! As if cleaning up all of Pukin' Pete's messes isn't bad enough!" Zeke shouted grabbing a nearby pillow and chucking it at his friend.

_"You Rushmore bitches got off lucky, but we'll be back! You hear me? We'll be back!" _the rival clan leader, Luvs2Snowball, called out.

"Anytime, anywhere," Artie chuckled while setting down his controller and taking out his earpiece. "Now if you boys will excuse me, I have to perform my post-game 'sacred ritual,'" he said rising from the couch and stretching out his limbs before making his way back into the bar and then approaching the men's room, which thankfully was devoid of Pukin' Pete's rancid presence.

Artie took his time doing his 'business,' while also admiring the graffiti covering the stalls, one being a caricature of Gino's face with a dick splooging all over him. When that was done he made his way back into the bar to see who all was there.

Gino for once had taken the incentive to slither out of his office and was manning the bar, that is if taking down multiple shots of whiskey could be considered 'working.'

Pukin' Pete was passed out down at the opposite end and seated a few stools down from him was the same blind guy who had come stumbling in looking for a drug store shortly after Artie's arrival in Rushmore City. Aside from them there were two others and when he got a look at their faces he let out a small chuckle.

Seated at the bar was Solomon Horatio Ignatius Tennyson and his cameraman Kevin, both of them nursing a White Russian and eCola respectively. The would-be producer's eyes lit up upon spotting Artie.

"Arthur Cappelli, I must say it has been too long since I have last met your acquaintance," the Brit said patting the countertop motioning for him to take a seat.

"Ah Mr. Tennyson indeed it has been far too long," Artie said adopting a patronizing tone as he casually reclined against the bar, "So how is your little 'cab wars' drama playing out? Is Vinewood throwing itself at you? Should I be looking for you on CNT anytime soon?"

The usually swaggering Brit gave him a confident smile, which quickly deflated into a frown.

"Not at the moment my dear boy. Let's just say there was a series of 'unfortunate events' which followed your 'audition' if you wish to call it that," Solomon said stealing a glance towards Kevin before returning his attention to Artie, "Apparently someone thought the man with the blow up doll would be too disturbing for the younger viewers, thus the executives refused our generous proposal. Nevertheless, we shall continue to soldier forth!" he triumphantly exclaimed while raising his drink into the air.

"Uh yeah, sure thing boss," Kevin said looking over to Artie, who shared his similar look of bemusement.

Solomon suddenly stopped himself and began scanning his surroundings and rubbed his chin in deep thought.

"Hmmm, this place…no matter how rancid it may be it still possesses a lot of character," he said before eagerly grabbing Kevin by the shoulder, "Look around you Kevin! Picture all the early anticipation…the broken dreams drowned in oceans of alcohol…the passion discovered in the men's room…(that comment nearly making Artie throw up his lunch)…the fury as the bartender is forced to raise his shotgun to dismiss some unruly ruffian-"

The would-be reality TV producer was immediately cut off by Artie slamming his fist down onto the countertop.

"I will _not_ let you make a reality TV show here in this bar!" Artie said getting in the Brit's face, "My cousin already has enough problems from every asshole on this island wanting to shake him down for money and he doesn't need you adding fuel to the fire!"

Solomon seemed taken aback by the hitman's sudden outburst before leaning back and casually taking another sip from his cocktail.

"In spite of your rather…'brutish' methods for getting things done, I always took you as more of the 'cooperative' type. Guess I was sorely mistaken," he replied, disappointment evident in his tone.

Artie's phone began ringing before the conversation could be taken any further and he looked down to his ID screen to see it was Donnie. _"Your timing is impeccable as always Cuz," _he told himself as he walked over to the nearby pool table and switched his phone on.

_"Cuz, I need you to meet me over at the Washington Point Mall right away," _Donnie spoke before his cousin could even offer a 'Hello.'

"Why there of all places?" Artie asked, only to rapidly be cut off by his cousin again.

_"Cuz, I don't pay you to ask me questions alright? I need you to meet me over at the Washington Point Mall and I need you there A.S.A.P.!" _Donnie half-shouted.

Artie steeled himself before replying, "Alright, where do you want me to meet you at?"

_"Heh heh, hell if I know! The Don's on the prowl today! I could be fucking anywhere my heart desires!" _he cackled.

Artie rolled his eyes before replying, "Fine, I'll give you a call when I'm almost there," he said and then switched his phone off making his way towards the front door without bothering to say his goodbyes to Gino or Solomon.

His now-repaired Deimos SP was parked out front and he looked over to the Pawn-o-Rama to see a three guys gathered around an Oracle who had been eyeballing his sports car, the one seated on the luxury car's hood smoking a joint. There was a bulge underneath his plaid shirt telling he was packing heat, but nevertheless Artie shot the three of them a sharp glare, hoping it would discourage them from trying anything funny against him or his car. Not taking his eyes away from them he climbed into the driver's seat and started the car up, his radio set to Radio GX and currently playing "Mountain Song" by Jane's Addiction.

Artie made his way towards the Eastwood Bridge, only slowing down as he passed a patrol car that had some guy in a Surano pulled over and currently in the midst of administering a field sobriety test, the man puking halfway through.

"Somebody's day's about to get really shitty," he chuckled to himself, thankful it wasn't him as he continued at a leisurely pace along the bridge, only speeding up when he was confident he was out of the cop's field of vision, knowing Donnie wasn't someone you kept waiting for a long, long time.

He continued along at his slightly above the legal limit speed until he finally reached the Washington Point district, forced to slow down as a trio of ambulances blew past him and hastily pulled into the nearby hospital. He took the time to pull out his phone and quickly dialed Donnie's number. It took three rings before the elder Cappelli finally picked up.

_"Talk to me!" _Donnie called out.

"Cuz, I'm near the mall. Where are you at now?" Artie asked as he came to a stoplight.

Donnie Cappelli had just finished a hot dog he had picked up from a nearby vendor and was reclining against the nearby fountain when he suddenly looked over into the Viviana's Mystery lingerie store. Seeing what was behind the counter a devilish thought came to mind.

_"Meet me at Viviana's Mystery. Second floor," _the elder Cappelli replied before hanging up.

"A lingerie shop?" Artie asked before it suddenly hit him and he again shuddered at another nasty mental image. Nevertheless he had been stupid enough to answer his cousin's call and knew there was no turning back at this point or else Donnie would never let him hear the end of it.

Artie eventually found the mall's parking ramp and parked next to a bright red Bison before exiting his car and making his way through the double doors and down the escalator that would take him directly into the mall.

The Washington Point Mall was an underground structure that made him think of some kind of top secret military base with a size that could have probably put the legendary Area 69 to shame, the ideal place to set up shop in the event of an apocalypse. If not that, it was a shopper's paradise with its variety of stores, a food court, a few separate restaurants and everything else in between. It made Artie glad he wasn't a teenage girl with all the clothing and shoe stores available.

As expected the mall was busy with shoppers hefting large bags back and forth hurriedly, eating at the nearby food court, sitting on the benches and chatting or standing around watching some guy juggling chainsaws.

He descended the escalator and made his way past the food court, suddenly realizing he had not eaten much for lunch aside from the snacks during his gaming session with Zeke and Randy, the combined aromas of food from Burger Shot, Cluckin' Bell, Well Stacked Pizza, Bean Machine, Byway, Boinkin Peters, You're My Gyro and Dominican Roastmasters. He wanted to stop and get a proper lunch, yet Donnie's nagging voice eked its way back into his head and he pushed himself forth, nearly knocking over some long-haired kid fooling around with a remote controlled car and making his way towards the stairs.

He continued down and made his way onto a level mostly populated by clothing stores and found Viviana's Mystery situated between a Perseus men's outfitter and strangely enough, a Crimson Matters. Not wanting to look like a creeper, he looked around to make sure no one else was in sight and made his way inside.

It truly was the kind of shop for a woman with expensive tastes, the kind of place where even the cheapest thong would probably cost a month's rent to the average citizen. This looked like the kind of place he would expect some really successful businesswoman to shop at, looking for the skimpiest lingerie she could find to seduce the new intern. The carpet was pink, the walls were painted with pink and white stripes, the lighting was dim and there was soft saxophone music playing over the speakers. He also noticed there was no one else in the store, at least not immediately visible.

_"This place would be an all you can eat buffet for the typical run of the mill shoplifter," _he thought as he nearly bumped into a mannequin wearing a black corset listed at five thousand dollars. Straightening himself out he walked towards the back of the store and it was then he heard the low moans coming from the fitting room area.

"Donnie," he whispered and made his way towards the back and through the entranceway into the dressing area, finding it fairly nice with a sofa and two comfy armchairs present. To his right was a line of rooms and he strolled down the narrow path until he was at the end and heard the noises coming from within.

"Oh god! Oh fuck yes Donnie! Fuck my tight pussy harder!" a young woman's voice called out from within, "Yes! Yes! Fuck me like the dirty little slut that I am!"

Artie steeled himself as he took a step further towards the door, trying to block out the mental images that would follow, his mind taken back to seeing his naked cousin when he was about to throw that orgy at his condo. Taking a deep breath he reached out and wrapped on the door.

"Cuz, it's me," he called out, drawing a frightened gasp from the woman inside, her voice muffled a second later by a hand being placed over her mouth.

"It's alright, I know this guy," he heard Donnie whisper.

"Maybe I should leave you two talk. Laura will be back in a few minutes anyway," he heard the woman mutter.

"It's fine sweetheart, he's family," Donnie repeated, "Besides, it's not like he hasn't overheard me fucking before."

"Ain't that the truth," Artie muttered quietly before speaking up, "You said you needed to speak with me right away."

Inside the small fitting room Donnie Cappelli had been in the middle of having sex with the store's barely legal cashier, who was shoving his face between her 36C-sized chest as she straddled him.

"Uh yeah," the elder cousin replied, his voice slightly muffled by the woman's chest. He briefly stopped what he was doing and made her turn around so she had her back to him, riding him reverse cowgirl.

"So what's going on? Spit it out Cuz!" Artie impatiently called out, reclining against the wall behind him with his arms crossed.

"Oh yeah," Donnie replied trying to get his mind back on the business at hand as the cashier bounced up and down on his hard member, forcing him to grip the bench on which he sat, "I have a friend who needs help!" he called over the woman's moans.

"Yet another one. You're quite the popular fellow, aren't you?" Artie replied pulling out his Whiz phone to see if he had any new text messages.

The question caused Donnie to shoot his hands up and clamp down on the woman's nipples, causing her to squeak in pain.

"Cuz, I'm the Don, everybody knows who I am!" he shouted.

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?" the hired gun quietly grumbled to himself, "Well this is _your_ friend we're talking about here, shouldn't you be out there helping him out? Oh wait that's right, you're a _busy_ man," Artie sarcastically retorted.

"Exactly," Donnie called out as the clerk bounced higher and came back down on him, his member accidentally sliding into her sphincter.

"Gah! I told you I don't do anal until the second date!" she squealed.

"Oops sorry," the elder Cappelli spoke waiting for her to get off and insert his dick back into the right hole, "Anyways, my friend needs help, but I've got…business going on at the moment…so I'm gonna need you to do this gig for me!"

"Typical Donnie, always needing people to do your dirty work for you," Artie scoffed.

"I'll pay you!" his cousin grunted back, giving the young woman a hard smack on her ass.

"Just when I thought no one else in this world understood me, my ever so loving cousin steps in to prove them wrong," Artie sarcastically chuckled, "So further enlighten me."

Donnie turned the young woman around and pressed her against the wall, lifting her up so her legs were wrapped around him, struggling not to shove his face between her tits so he could keep talking to his cousin.

"Some people have been giving him trouble and he's getting nervous," Donnie huffed while thrusting into the young woman, "He's been getting death threats up the ass," his choice of words making Artie snicker, "He thought they were just bluffing…until he got a bomb at his office. The fuzz showed up and got it disarmed, but he's still nervous as fuck!"

"Fuck me harder!" the young woman suddenly called out.

Donnie set the woman down and turned her around to take her from behind.

"You're gonna need to pick him up from over at the Sheen Medical Clinic in LaFollette," he said squeezing the woman's breasts while pumping her hard, "You'll have to be over there by 5 o'clock because that's when his shift ends!"

"Okay, who is this guy?" Artie asked scratching the back of his neck.

"His name is Jameson Switzel, he's a doctor there! Ask the receptionist and she'll point you to him," Donnie replied smacking the woman's ass repeatedly.

"Anything else I should know?" Artie asked, raising his voice as the woman's moans grew louder.

"Oh my god! Oh fuck yes! Fuck yes Donnie!" the woman squealed in delight as Donnie began to pump her harder and faster, "Oh fuck I'm cumming!"

"DONNIE!" Artie screamed.

"Oh yeah," the elder Cappelli replied as the young woman collapsed to her knees and proceeded to give him head, "You'll need to give him a special code phrase so he'll know what you're there for!"

"And what is this code phrase?" Artie demanded.

"Man, Mrs. Johnson sure has a bad case of crabs. Don't you agree?" Donnie replied.

Artie sighed heavily and shook his head, "I have no fucking clue who this Mrs. Johnson is and nor did I need to know that! Now tell me what the fucking code phrase is!"

"That is the code phrase numb nuts!" Donnie shot back as the cashier began deep throating him.

"Man, Mrs. Johnson sure has a bad case of crabs. Don't you agree?" Artie muttered to himself, repeating the phrase mentally twice before he was sure it was memorized, "Alright, I've got it. I'll be over there to pick him up."

"Shit, I'm gonna cum baby!" Donnie shouted to the young woman.

"Do it all over my tits!" she pleaded.

Artie had heard enough and exited the dressing room area just as his cousin splattered all over the woman's chest, letting out a lion-like roar in the process. He exited the boutique and checked his watch to see it was just five minutes after four. He would have plenty of time to make his way over to the clinic and pick this man up and made his way over to the nearby stairwell and made his way back up to the first floor.

He looked over to his left and saw an Ammu-Nation situated between a Victim clothing store and the Family Jewels jeweler. Knowing how things could be whenever Donnie assigned a mission, a bad feeling suddenly overcame him and he decided to check the place out.

There were only two other patrons in the store, one being a guy who looked like he spent too much time down in his parents' basement, mumbling something to himself about the 'forthcoming zombie apocalypse,' and the other being a blonde-haired woman in a fiery red business suit placing a Remington 700 and a few boxes of rounds on the front counter.

"Are you sure that'll be all for you today Mrs. Piedermann?" asked the cashier, a bald overweight man with a thick brown beard and mustache, clad in denim overalls with no shirt on underneath, showing off his carpet of chest hair underneath, in his thick Southern twang.

"Those pussy liberals have been at it again Bear, always whining about wanting handouts and what not. They don't have the decency to stay inside their closets fantasizing about sucking Impotent Rage's cock, so they're gonna need some 'convincing,'" the woman replied doing a last minute check over the rifle's scope.

"Amen to that," the cashier called Bear replied as he rang her order up.

"By the grace of God, hallelujah!" the woman triumphantly whooped, "Be sure to see you at the next church service dear boy," she said before exiting and brushing past Artie.

The hitman shook his head at the woman's hypocrisy and began browsing the nearby racks, gathering some ammo for his FN Five-seven, in addition to an FN SCAR and a few magazines. He walked over to the cashier and laid his merchandise on the counter.

"Heh, I knew you were a lightweight the second you walked through the door pretty boy," the cashier scoffed, "Hell, I could smell the shit in your trousers and believe me, I know lightweight shit when I smell it!"

_"Great, just what I need, another knuckle dragging sister fucker," _he thought reaching for his wallet. "Whatever, just ring me up and shut the fuck up," Artie snapped.

"Heh, I didn't know lady boys knew how to swear," the big man chortled, "Where did you learn that from? That sissy 'Ghetto Eye for the Queer Guy' show? My faggot nephew loves that show, hell I oughta' give you his number. You two would make a cute couple-" he continued until Artie slapped his hands down on the counter.

"Now listen here you fat inbred fuck! I have a job to carry out and I need some of your wares to make this job possible. Now are you going to sit around being a fucking dickhead, or am I gonna have to paint the walls with your fucking brain matter?" Artie roared getting into the man's face, smelling an overabundance of moonshine on his breath, so strong it nearly made the hitman drunk.

The large clerk only laughed back in his face, "You think you could take me little boy? I was a Golden Gloves champ-"

He never had the chance to finish as Artie decked him with a vicious right hook that sent him falling backwards into the display case behind and knocking him out cold.

"Fuck it," Artie said scooping the merchandise off the counter and also noticed the H&K MP5K Bear kept hidden underneath the register. Taking the submachine gun along with the rifle and ammo he purchased he made his way out of the store, stopping to grab a fresh Kevlar vest on the way out, all the while ignoring the frightened gasps of the other remaining customer.

"Can never go wrong with anything you get for free," he chuckled to himself, passing a security guard standing near the entrance of the Man Cave sporting goods store, more engrossed in picking his nose than doing his job.

Artie made his way towards the escalator and rode it back up to the parking garage, where his Deimos SP still waited for him in one piece. He climbed inside and started up, Deadlock's "Code of Honor" now playing, prompting him to turn the volume up and leave the music echoing off the concrete walls.

The hitman roared out of the underground parking garage, cutting off a street sweeper and racing into oncoming traffic, causing a six car pileup, yet he sped on without a care in the world and continued forth until he was approaching the ramp and making his way over to Jefferson Vale, cutting off a green Moonbeam and causing another traffic jam before finally reaching the first street.

He didn't let up on the gas even as he sped down narrower, more populated streets, still a little agitated after having to listen to his cousin in the middle of sex, so agitated he nearly clipped a jogger in a blue track suit.

"You crazy fucker! You're gonna kill somebody!" the man shouted waving his fist angrily.

Artie ignored the man's comment and continued further along, passing Arnold Square where yet another group had convened to protest with a few cops gathered to watch them closely and then cut off a Rumpo being utilized for Robert Kretchell's mayoral campaign, the progressive lawyer's picture emblazoned on the side and the attached megaphones blaring his message, yet unable to be heard clearly due to the hitman's radio being turned up.

It was only a matter of time before he was pulling up outside the Sheen Medical Clinic, familiar with the route from having dropped off previous fares during his work with Freeman Cabs. Artie pulled into the closest available stall to the front door and made his way into the shady overhang and walking past a parked Stratum, where an elderly lady was carefully being helped out of the backseat and into a waiting wheelchair.

Artie walked inside and found himself in a nicely-furnished lobby, the only other occupant being the guard at the security desk.

"May I help you?" the guard asked setting down his Playhouse magazine.

"I need to find Dr. Switzel's office," Artie replied.

The guard did not reply immediately, staring at him quietly before his brown eyes suddenly widened and he was struggling to hold back laughter.

"What's so funny?" the hitman snapped.

Again the guard did not reply right away, taking a few seconds to compose himself before he held in his laughter long enough to answer, "Nothing! It's nothing! His office is down the hall and is the third door on your left."

Artie didn't even bother to thank the man and walked down the hall towards the doctor's office, a suspicious feeling overcoming him as he wondered what the guard could have been laughing at.

When he came to the doctor's door he suddenly stopped.

_"JAMESON SWITZEL, GYNAECOLOGIST."_

Artie was at first incredulous before he found himself shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Donnie, what the fuck have you gotten me into now?" the hitman groaned aloud, ignoring the stares of the doctor and nurse passing him by. Taking a deep breath he hung his head in shame as he walked through the door.

The waiting room was small in size and decorated with various flower pots and paintings of nature scenery on the walls, yet the pleasant imagery did nothing to assauge the hired gun's embarrassment, especially as the three women present stopped everything they were doing and looked up to him. One of the patients, a young woman in her early 20's with long blonde hair and wearing a pink hoodie suddenly pulled out her iFruit and started texting an unknown recipient, giggling the entire time.

_"Since when did my life get so fucked up?" _Artie asked himself as he slowly approached the front desk and looked down to the receptionist, a fair-skinned woman in her early 30's with her long red hair worn in a bun.

"And how may I help you...sir?" she asked, trying to remain professional while at the same time staring awkwardly at him.

"I have...an appointment with Dr. Switzel," the hitman blurted out, his cheeks turning fire truck red in embarrassment, _"Donnie I'm going to fucking kill you for this later on!"_

"For a Cappelli?" the woman asked after typing a few commands in on her computer.

"Yes," Artie grunted wanting this to be over with as soon as possible.

"Oh yes, Dr. Switzel should be expecting you at any moment," the woman spoke trying to suppress a snicker, "He's just right through the door to your right."

Again Artie didn't even bother to thank the woman for her forced kindness and proceeded through the door, finding himself in a small office with an examination table to his right and the wall covered in various posters depicting the internal organs of the female body.

The room's lone occupant turned to greet him, an African-American male who stood around his height with a lanky build and his black hair cropped closely to his head, accompanied by a thin mustache and goatee. He wore the typical white lab coat of a medical doctor with a pink button up dress shirt and red tie underneath, a gold Crowex on his wrist and a stethoscope hanging around his neck.

"Ah hello there," the doctor spoke attempting to be polite before reluctantly extending his hand, "And how may I help you today, Mister-"

Artie was about to reply before the passphrase Donnie gave him suddenly kicked in.

"Man, Mrs. Johnson sure has a bad case of crabs. Don't you agree?"

Dr. Switzel stopped dead in his tracks and stared intently at the hitman before composing himself, "Um, you'll need to excuse me for a second."

The doctor brushed past him and into the nearby broom closet, only to reappear a split second later wearing a totally different outfit.

Gone was his lab coat and dress clothes, now replaced by a metallic purple pimp suit with tiger-print trim and covered by a floor-length mink coat. His eyes were covered by a pair of shades that looked to be ten times too big for his face and lined with diamonds, a matching wide-brimmed hat on his head with a lone white feather sticking out. In his right hand was a cane with a diamond tip, gold rings on each finger.

"Jimmy Sweet, at your service," the man said extending his hand and smiling, his gold tooth glimmering under the lights. "I take it you must be the cat sent by the Don, am I correct?" he asked, his tone taking on a 'funkier' edge as opposed to his previous erudite, cultured approach.

"That I am," Artie said reaching out and shaking his hand. "Uh, just how did you change your clothes so fast?" he asked cocking an eyebrow.

Jimmy's smile only grew before he gracefully twirled his cane, "The Don says you're better at 'shooting shit up' than you are asking questions."

"Yeah, you could say that," Artie replied before placing his hands on his hips, "Donnie tells me you've been having some trouble lately."

Jimmy's smile vanished and he casually sat himself on his desk and crossed his legs, "Some squares have been hatin' on yours truly as of late, real biblical fellas if ya' catch my drift. Apparently they ain't being too fond of my efforts to 'entertain the masses,' if you will" he said making quotation gestures with his fingers.

"Right, do go on," Artie replied reclining against the wall and checking looking down to his Crowex.

"Well yours truly was out the other night, selling some of my 'Grade A merchandise.' It was a sweet time for all until some choir boy decided to put his hands on Jimmy. Nobody puts their hands on Jimmy, ya' dig? Anywho, this cat's got some homies that don't take kindly to that kinda' stuff, so now they been makin' threats. Jimmy can't die yet, Jimmy still has the lonely men of this fair city that need the satisfaction only he can provide...the merchandise that is, and that's where you're gonna be comin' it," he explained lowering his diamond-encrusted sunglasses.

"So you want me to do your pimping for you?" Artie asked uncrossing his arms.

"Now why ya' gotta be goin' usin' that word?" Jimmy asked incredulously, "'Pimp' has such negative connotations behind it. I prefer 'high class urban entertainment provider' if you will."

"Who knew a pimp...I'm sorry 'high class urban entertainment provider' could be politically correct," Artie snickered.

"Anyways, gettin' to the good stuff, one of my ladies tells me those squares might be plannin' 'something big,' and by 'big' I ain't talkin' 'bout the size of that Puerto Rican guy who paid me fifty thousand G's for a good time," Jimmy started trailing until he was cut off by Artie.

"Can we please keep things on the subject at hand?" he snapped.

"Right-O Daddy-O!" he nodded pointing at him playfully, "Anyways, Jimmy Sweet is gonna need some protection for a little drive to his love shack."

"Fine, my car's out front," Artie said gesturing towards the door, only to be cut off by Jimmy raising his hands.

"Ah, ah, ah! Jimmy Sweet only rides in style!" he said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a set of car keys, "It's the Remington out front. Just don't scratch the paint job playa!"

"Right," Artie replied making his way back into the reception area and doing what he could to ignore the stares as he made his exit.

XXXXX

Jimmy's car was a heavily-customized '77 Remington lowrider with a purple body and a sweet flame decal job. The tires were whitewall and had gold-plated twenty inch rims that sparkled in the late day sunlight. The interior had a gaudy zebra-print design and the roof had a bright red velvet finish that nearly strained his eyes, yet the seats were of a suede material that made things more comfortable. He also found himself chuckling at the pair of fuzzy pink dice hanging on the rear view mirror and the golden gear shift crafted like the upper torso of a nude woman.

He looked around for the pimp, impatiently drumming his fingers on the leather steering wheel. Looking forward he eventually spotted the purple-clad man in the midst of chatting with a nurse and handing her a business card, no doubt looking for a new employee.

_"I'm guessing the term 'off the clock' means nothing to him," _Artie thought as the pimp walked through the sliding double doors, _"I wonder how he manages to hide that from his co-workers walking around dressed like that, if at all."_

Jimmy strolled over and climbed in, "Alright playa', let's get these wheels rollin'. Jimmy's got places to be ya' know," he said switching the car's radio over to Funked Up 105.3, currently playing "Atomic Dog" by George Clinton.

"Right," Artie replied, waiting for a Phantom hauling an oil tank to pass before pulling into traffic, "So you're a doctor on the side, huh?" he asked trying to build conversation.

"You seem like a cool cat so I'll let you in on it being more of a 'front' ya' know? Gotta look legit, easier way to get new 'employees.' Jimmy's gotta be creative like that, ya' dig?"

"I get it yeah," Artie sarcastically replied as he made a right-hand turn and nearly collided with a gaggle of skateboarders, "You still haven't told me how you pulled that stunt back in the office, you know, being able to suddenly change into your different clothes in less than a split second."

Jimmy chuckled, "A master has to have his secrets ya' know. The world would be less magical if I told ya' everything," he said reaching into the compartment between the seats and pulling out a martini glass and bottle of chardonnay.

"Whatever you say 'master,'" Artie scoffed, "Wouldn't wanna spoil anything for your holiness."

"Damn right playa! Jimmy's too sweet to be sour!" he said taking a drink from his glass and then pulling out a Cohiba and lighting it up.

Artie didn't reply and just focused on the road ahead of him when it suddenly dawned on him, "So where to?"

Jimmy did not reply immediately, busy staring at a barely legal tanned brunette in an aqua blue spaghetti strap tanktop and lime green short shorts as she strolled along the sidewalk. Artie saw what was happening and forcefully clasped the pimp's shoulder, only to have a gold-plated Desert Eagle shoved in his face."

"Nobody puts hands on Jimmy! Ya' dig?" the pimp shot back.

"Alright, alright! Sheesh! You can put the gun down now," Artie replied, jumping again when a blaring horn came from behind and he looked in the rearview mirror to find a Hauler almost tail-gating them. He looked back to the speedometer to see they had slowed to a near snail-like pace and quickly stomped the gas pedal, nearly sending Jimmy flying face first into the dashboard.

"Hey! Hey! Watch it will you?" Jimmy shouted, his tone losing all the jive and resuming his previous erudite tone. He looked down a second later to see the liquid still in his glass, "At least you didn't spill on the threads. Jimmy likes that."

"Yeah whatever. Now can you please tell me where I'm supposed to take you?" Artie asked again.

"Oh yeah, take me to – Ooh, I love this tune!" Jimmy was about to say when "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" by The Gap Band suddenly came on the radio and the pimp reached over to turn the volume up.

"JIMMY! FUCKING TELL ME WHERE I HAVE TO TAKE YOU!" Artie screamed, his tone causing the windows to vibrate.

The pimp was suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, his large sunglasses hiding the anxiety that was likely in his eyes right now, yet the man spoke in his usual cool tone.

"Oh yeah, Jimmy's got himself a sweet love shack up in Batholith Peak. Take me there and I can promise you a sweet deal in the end," the pimp replied.

"Sure thing," Artie replied.

Batholith Peak was considered the "high end" community of Roosevelt Hills where all the city's A-listers had their fancy mountain getaways. Located on a decommissioned Devil's Cone ski resort, it would be quite a long haul so he figured he might as well try to make the most of it.

"Nice gun by the way," Artie commented, "I bet it must have cost you extra to have one of the Ammu-Nation guys do that gold-plated finish for you."

"Ammu-Nation," Jimmy scoffed, "Motherfucker please! My shit is custom!"

"Well then I gotta get me some of that," Artie laughed.

"Keep it real for me an' I might jus' get you some of that and more," the pimp replied.

"Keeping it real is what I do best...if you're that willing to take my cousin's word for it," Artie spoke as he pulled onto the Arness Expressway to Roosevelt Hills, the Remington finding itself passed by a pack of bikers headed for the Riding Bitch biker bar.

The duo drove along Highway 67 in relative silence, passing along a small clearing where there was a Cluckin' Bell, 24/7 convenience store and gas station, a Flappers pancake joint, and a Red Shirt Inn motel. Unknown to them, a motorcycle cop was watching them and tossed his half-eaten donut to the ground, starting up his lights and siren and beginning pursuit.

Artie was rounding a curve near the scenic overlook of Lake Tete when he heard a siren blaring from behind him and looked in the rearview mirror to see a police motorcycle closing in on him.

"Shit, it's the fuzz," the hitman grumbled.

"Pull over," Jimmy spoke.

"Huh?" Artie asked cocking an eyebrow in the pimp's direction.

"You heard me playa, pull this chariot over. The fuzz 'round these parts know Jimmy's too sweet to be sour. Let me have a few words and I can have this buster off our backs in no time," the pimp said straightening his hat.

"If you insist," Artie spoke reluctantly easing the lowrider to a halt on the highway's shoulder, looking down to the Walther P22 tucked at his side. He brought the Remington to a halt and shifted into park, waiting patiently for the officer to approach and watching him in the rearview mirror the entire time.

"Evening officer," Jimmy spoke before the man could get a word in, "What is it Jimmy can do for you tonight?" he asked, hoping this was another unhappy officer he had lent his 'services' to in the past.

The tan-clad officer eyed the pimp suspiciously beneath his mirrored aviator shades before his hand went for his pistol.

"By the hand of God, I smite thee heathen!" the officer cried.

"Square!" Jimmy screamed, but Artie had reacted faster and shot the Remington's door open and knocked the fake police officer to the pavement. He drew the P22 and prepared to finish the man off, only for the passenger side window to explode behind him.

"That ain't right!" the pimp shouted looking over his shoulder to find a hole torn through the headrest behind him and his wide-brimmed hat knocked from his head. "Ain't nobody touchin' Jimmy unless he says so!"

Artie ignored the pimp's comment as he looked ahead to find a bright white Roadtrain semi-truck rushing towards them. Without warning he shifted the Remington into drive and slammed the gas pedal to the floor, just barely dodging the semi's charge as it sped past them and collided head on with the mountain behind them in a brilliant explosion that caused the lowrider to rock onto two wheels before hitting the pavement with a bone-jarring rattle.

_"Repent at once sinner! Let your life be the price of your actus reus!" _a voice called out over a megaphone and the duo looked ahead to see two white Picadors charging towards them, their windows made of stained glass and large crosses painted on the hoods. A megaphone was mounted to the hood of each car and in each cargo bed he could see a person in a monk's robe with a vest worn over it. When he saw what was strapped to them his eyes widened.

"Suicide bombers!" Artie shouted, but he was too late as one of the Picadors raced past and its occupant leapt from the cargo bed, landing on the Remington's hood and latching on for dear life.

"Foul heathen! Do not resist the punishment you are due! It is by God's will you bathe in the fires of righteous vengeance!" the religious fanatic cried.

"I got this playa," Jimmy said flipping a switch beneath the radio and the Remington's hydraulics kicked in, the lowrider bouncing up and down as Artie struggled to keep it on the road. It would be enough to finally rock the suicide bomber from the hood and sent him flying backwards, rolling along the road before his explosives detonated and one of the white Picadors was swallowed up in the blast.

"One down," Artie said switching the hydraulics off as the other Picador pulled an abrupt U-turn, cutting off a Tailgater and charging after them.

_"By the Lord's will, you will fall blasphemer!" _the driver cried over the megaphone.

"Slow down!" Jimmy shouted.

"Are you fucking insane? Don't you realize we've got bat shit religious zealots on our tail?" Artie called back, narrowly missing a Bodhi when they were forced into the opposite lane.

"Has Jimmy bullshitted you before?" the pimp asked flipping another switch beneath the radio.

Knee cappers suddenly shot out from beneath the tire's rims and Artie slowed the lowrider down as instructed, getting close enough to pierce the Picador's tires and sent the coupe utility swerving out of control, colliding head on with a motorcyclist driving a Bagger.

"Whew! I knew those squares were uptight, but damn!" Jimmy hollered.

Artie found himself blinded a second later, followed by the flutter of helicopter blades.

_"Spawn of Satan you only delay the inevitable! The will of God is inescapable!" _another voice called out from a megaphone, this time above them. A white Buzzard attack helicopter hovered in the air and Artie was able to make out the rocket launchers on both sides.

"Where the fuck do these Jesus freaks keep getting all this stuff?" he shouted before looking over to Jimmy, "Please tell me you have more surprises in this baby."

"Sounds like you still ain't trustin' Jimmy," the pimp grumbled before flipping enough switch and the whoosh of nitrous activating sounded, sending the lowrider racing down the highway at breakneck speed. Artie struggled at first to maintain control of the wheel, but would eventually steady the car as they sped down a straight stretch of road, the Remington managing to dodge a cluster of missiles fired in its direction that tore apart the pavement behind them.

Fate eventually smiled upon the duo as they entered a tunnel, buying them a temporary reprieve from the religious fanatics' assault.

"Now I know why I hate organized religion so much," Artie spat as the Remington raced down the tunnel. Seeing the light at the end he steeled himself for any other surprises the zealots could have in store.

The tunnel led the duo onto a bridge where sure enough there was a seemingly normal Squalo in the water. The normalcy was gone when the 'fisherman' on board suddenly produced an AT4 anti-tank rocket launcher and fired a rocket towards the bridge, the lowrider barely dodging the explosive and making it off the collapsing bridge just in time.

"Jesus, don't you have a rocket launcher on here?" Artie asked looking down to the switches beneath the radio.

"You're on your own there playa," the pimp shot back.

"I thought you said I was supposed to 'trust' you," Artie said giving the man an incredulous look.

"Hey! Hey! Hey easy there cool cat. Jimmy's got his sources, but they ain't told me nothin' 'bout no damned birds in the sky! Jimmy knew those Mars Pentecostal cats had their fat load a' paper, but nothin' ain't been like this!" the pimp called back.

"Fuck it," Artie grumbled and looked back down to the meter to see the nitrous was now fully replenished. He looked back up to see they were coming across a set of train tracks with the gates lowered and the red lights flashing, a freight train fast approaching. "Shut up and hang on!" he said flipping the nitrous switch. There was another loud whoosh and the lowrider rocketed through the gates, just as the Buzzard fired another cluster of missiles that struck a car transporting a large oil tank and creating a massive explosion that swallowed up the entire train in a domino effect of chaos.

The earth quaked beneath them and the Remington was finally forced off the road, plowing through a wooden fence and into a corn field, coming to a rough halt when the numerous stalks began clogging the cars under chassis.

"Fucking hell," Artie spat unable to move the car. He looked over to Jimmy and withdrew the P22. "Wait here," he ordered.

The hired gun forced the driver's side door open and had to struggle through the mass of stalks before he came to a open row and ran to the edge and had a clear view of the road. In the distance he saw the towering inferno and beyond that he was able to make out the Buzzard that had attacked them, only it was flying away in the opposite direction. Perhaps the pilot thought they were dead and was abandoning the hunt.

Artie sighed in relief and made his way back to where the Remington had come to a halt, finding Jimmy standing out in the open whimpering at the sight of his wrecked car.

"My baby...what have those squares done to you? Daddy's gonna make them pay. That's a promise," the pimp whined, only to stop himself when he noticed Artie was witin earshot and resumed his 'smooth operator' jive tone, "Man, now that ain't gravy! Those finks wrecked a masterpiece. Ain't nobody one to put hands on Jimmy's pride and joy an' get away with it. Ya' dig?"

"Whatever, but right now I need to get you back to your place," Artie said looking further down the open row and spotting a Duneloader parked in the distance, "C'mon!"

Jimmy lowered his shades and cocked an eyebrow at Artie before letting out a small chuckle, "Playa' get real for once. Jimmy only rides in style!"

Artie glared back to the pimp, "You wanna fucking walk or what? This is our only ride out of here. Now get your bitch ass in gear or else I'm leaving your ass behind. Your choice bub."

Jimmy stared at him long and hard before pulling out a gold-plated lighter and flicking it open.

Less than a second later, an explosion occurred and the luxurious Remington was no more.

"What the fuck?" Artie asked regaining his bearings and bringing an arm up to shield his eyes from the orange glow.

"Now we can go," Jimmy said walking over to join him.

XXXXX

It took them a little while longer, but Artie found his way to Batholith Peak and it wasn't long before they were pulling up to a light purple-colored mansion with a matching wall that would have made any normal decorator throw up.

_"To each his own...I guess," _Artie thought to himself as he came up to a wrought-iron gate with some of the bars stylized to resemble musical notes and a large circle with the initials _'J.S.'_ engraved in the center.

"Alright, that's far enough!" a woman's voice called out and the hitman slowed to a halt, finding himself met by two shapely women, one blonde and the other black-haired, both of them wearing matching camouflage-patterned bikinis that were a few sizes too small and carrying HK416 assault rifles.

"Whoa! Whoa ladies it's fine! It's just yours truly daddy-o!" Jimmy called out stepping out from the truck's passenger side.

"Oh my goodness, Papa Bear!" the blonde called out pushing a button that opened the gate.

"My goodness, you look like you've been through Hell and back," the raven-haired beauty said running over and massaging his shoulders, soon joined by the blonde.

"Papa Bear ain't gonna let a few squares bring him down just like that," the pimp said reaching into his pocket and producing a roll of dollar bills, "Here take this playa, you've earned it!" he said tossing the roll to Artie. "You're actually a cool cat. Jimmy'll have to give you a call sometime in the future. Keep things on the down low until then," he said as the gates closed behind him and the ladies.

"Yeah sure," Artie said out of earshot. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed Donnie's number. "Cuz, it's me. Jimmy is safe and sound back at his mansion."

_"Hell yeah! That's a Cappelli for you! I knew you could do it," _an enthusiastic Donnie called back, techno music thumping in the background.

"Yeah, sure thing," Artie called back.

_"Oh and by the way Cuz, I'm buying out Freeman Cabs," _Donnie announced.

"Seriously?" Artie scoffed, "Lloyd Freeman hasn't even been dead a full 48 hours and you're already buying that place out?"

_"Does the Don ever bullshit you?" _the elder Cappelli cousin asked only to cut Artie off before he could even reply, _"I got the deed and everything. Pretty soon the public will be saying hello to the Cappelli Cab Company! It's just the next step in a growing empire, one that you will be part of for sure."_

"Fine, congratulations to you then," Artie sarcastically replied before switching his phone off.

Artie needed to find a way back to the medical clinic where his Deimos SP was still parked and looked off to his left where a Seminole SUV was parked in front of an A-frame house. With no other options he ran over and brought the P22's butt down onto the window and 'invited' himself in, reaching down and hotwiring the car. He sped down the street and waited until he was out of earshot before turning the radio on, which was set at Total 101.9 and playing "Break Your Heart" by Taio Cruz.

Thankfully the stolen SUV had a GPS in it and he typed in clinic's coordinates, although knowing he would have to take an alternate route back home thanks to the railway disaster and bombed out bridge. As long as those religious fanatics thought he and Jimmy were dead he was hopeful it would be smooth sailing back to the clinic.

He had driven for quite sometime until he spotted another flaming wreck in the distance.

"Since when did life get so fucked up?" he asked himself as he was about to pass the overturned Fugitive, only to come to a screeching halt when a woman threw herself in front of him.

"Lady, what the fuck?" he shouted after rolling down his window, only to stop when the woman rose to her feet and stepped into the light.

She was a young woman of Mexican-American descent with long black hair worn in a ponytail and wearing a gray zip up hoodie covered in blood, a large gash on her forehead.

"Please...you have to help me!" she said throwing herself against the Seminole while clutching at a bullet wound just beneath her shoulder, "I'm shot. I've got money and I can pay you!"

Artie noted the flaming wreckage behind her and eyed her closely again before nodding, "Okay, get in."

"Thank you," the woman grunted pulling herself in and slinking against the seat.

"I'm heading for the Sheen Medical Clinic. I can take you there," the hitman said, only for the woman to suddenly spring to life with renewed vigor.

"No! Don't take me there! Take me to Gilmore! Please...I have a friend there!" the woman pleaded.

"Der Chirurg, huh? Been a while since I've seen that guy," Artie replied, knowing this woman must not be on the right side of the law if she's asking for him.

Her dark eyes widened as she stared at him, "Wait a minute, you know who I'm talking about?"

"Let's just say a friend of mine and I required his 'services' at one point," Artie spoke, noting the blood still gushing from her bullet wound and speeding up knowing she probably didn't have much time left. "So what's your story?"

The woman eyed him warily before speaking up.

"Three guys and I did a pawn shop job in Osbourne Dale, I was the driver. Should've been an easy job and another twenty thousand each...but it was a fucking sting! The pigs killed one and pinched the other. Me and the other guy got away...cleared two roadblocks too...pigs have been hunting us for the past three hours," she explained, her voice a tired croak.

"What about the other guy?" Artie asked.

"Greedy fucker shot me, made me crash the car. For all I know he's nothing but ashes," the woman replied before drifting off. Artie reached over and felt her neck. She still had a pulse, but was getting weaker by the minute.

The rest of the drive over to Gilmore passed by in silence and it was only a matter of time before he was approaching the same bungalow and pulling into Ludwig Schwarz's driveway.

"Alright, c'mon," Artie said pulling the passenger side door open and helping the woman out, who groaned loudly and opened her eyes as he wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

"Where am I?" she slurred.

"Relax, we're here to see Der Chirurg," Artie said dragging her over to the front door and pushing the intercom button.

_"Yes, who is it?" _the same German-accented voice called out, clearly irritated at being disturbed from his nightly routine.

"We're here to see Der Chirurg," Artie spoke into the microphone.

_"Artie Cappelli?" _the man asked clearly recognizing his voice, _"Just a minute."_

An electronic buzzing noise sounded and Artie pulled the woman through the door to be met by Ludwig.

"She's been shot," Artie said handing her over to the mob doctor.

"I'll get started right away," Dr. Schwarz said taking hold of the woman, who stopped him before he could lead her to the makeshift operating room.

"Wait..." she said reaching into her pocket and handing the hitman a stack of bills along with a piece of paper with a phone number written on it, "...here's for helping me out. Call me if you need help with anything in the future."

Artie looked down to the note, the woman's name listed as Hayleigh Marquez and the stack amounting to one thousand dollars total.

"Alright, I will," the hitman said exiting the mob doctor's house and making his way back for the Seminole.

_"God I'm gonna need a drink," _the hitman thought to himself as he climbed in and made his way for the clinic.

XXXXXX

Author's Note: And so ends YET another installment of "Rushmore City." Aside from my pre-occupation with my Deadliest Warrior fic I've also had the time to beat "Grand Theft Auto V" and hope to play it again soon when I have the free time.

Speaking of GTAV, for those of you who might have picked it out, Jimmy DeSanto does make a pseudo-cameo in this story in the beginning, the 'Dangerous-J' screen name being a reference to one of the nicknames he uses in the game.

Viviana's Mystery is a spoof of the Victoria's Secret franchise and the Washington Point Mall itself is inspired by the Rounds Square under mall from "Saints Row 2." Speaking of SR2, the scene with Donnie having sex with the cashier is inspired by the 'Ho-ing' diversion from that game as well.

The Ammu-Nation cashier Bear is inspired by Bear Hugger from Nintendo's "Punch Out" series.

Jimmy Sweet is physically inspired by Mike Epps and his portrayal of L.J. from "Resident Evil: Apocalypse," along with heavy influence from Zimos in "Saints Row: The Third." His line "Motherfucker please, my shit is custom" is a line he uttered in that movie and his suddenly change of clothes is inspired by Superman's classic phone booth changing sequence. Since GTA and SR characters are known for having their quirks, Jimmy's is that he has a secret identity as a gynaecologist by day.

The white Picador driven by the Mars Pentecostal members is inspired by Brimstone from "Twisted Metal: Black" and the suicide bombers is inspired by his special attack.

Rescuing Hayleigh would be a 'randon event' inspired by GTA5 had this been an actual video game and her physical appearance would be inspired by Alanna Masterson who plays Tara on "The Walking Dead."

Well I think that's everything for the time being so until then read and review as always! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	43. When the Chips are Down

Chapter 43: When the Chips are Down

Artie jolted back and forth dribbling the basketball at a frenzied pace as he attempted to slip past Dal, who stood in front of him with his long arms extended.

"C'mon, is that all you got?" the fighter called out, "I thought your punk ass was supposed to be better than this! I haven't even broken a sweat yet!"

"Keep it up! You'll have something else broken," the hitman shot back as he attempted to find an opening in the fighter's defenses.

"All talk as always!" Dal shot back, clad in a purple and gold Los Santos Panic basketball jersey and matching athletic shorts, "Christ, even Randy shuts up better than you!"

Artie attempted to dart past his friend and go for a lay up, yet Dal was quicker and leaped up shooting his hand out and slapping the ball away before it could come anywhere near the hoop.

"Guess it's true, white men _can't_ jump!" Dal cackled.

Without warning Artie shoulder tackled his friend to the tarmac and managed to catch the ball before it could bounce too far away, quickly charging for the hoop and delivering a picture perfect slam dunk.

"Oh yeah!" Artie hollered, hanging from the rim for a few seconds before dropping back down.

"Fuck man, this is supposed to be simple street ball!" Dal said pushing himself back to his feet, "Christ, Zeke wasn't lying about that 'Cappelli pride' of yours, but fuck man still!" he said wincing at the fresh scrape on his knee.

"Heh, you're supposed to be the 'big badass pit fighter' here aren't you? And yet you bitch about a simple scrape!" Artie taunted.

"Yeah, and fuck your couch too!" Dal shot back.

"Okay, time for a break then," Artie said attempting to twirl the ball on his fingertip, yet failing miserably.

"Ha! Afraid of getting your ass kicked again? Afraid you're gonna break a nail?" Dal taunted as they made their way towards a nearby bench where they left their gear.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you sideways!" Artie said grabbing a towel and tossing it in the pit fighter's face. The duo had decided to get together for a game of one-on-one, meeting at the park in Cuba Norte three days after the hired gun's last job for Donnie. What was supposed to be a friendly game was on the verge of descending into a heated confrontation as both men's competitive spirits started getting the best of them and he decided to call for a break before fists could be thrown.

"So you think that pimp's gonna give you a discount after the way you saved his ass from those fundies?" Dal asked before taking a long swig from his water bottle.

"I don't know man. It's been a while since I've seen Gladys so I might give her a call and see if she wants to do something?" Artie asked before taking a swig from his bottle. He then lifted his arm and took a sniff, scrunching his face at the odor. "Damn, I'm gonna need another shower when I get home," he said tugging at the collar of his Love Fist t-shirt to air it out. In addition he was clad in a pair of red athletic shorts with white trime and some Eris Kombatt shoes.

"You really think you wanna be getting serious with someone if you're planning on getting the hell outta here once the blockade is lifted?" the pit fighter inquired taking of his Eris headband.

"Well she told me she wants to get the hell outta here herself, so she'll be coming with me," Artie replied.

"Still no idea where you're heading off too?" Dal asked rolling the basketball beneath his foot.

"Nope, guess I'm just gonna wing it," Artie said finishing off the last of his water and tossing the empty bottle into the nearby recycling barrel.

A hip-hop ring tone sounded and Dal reached into his gym bag for his cell phone, "Talk to me!"

Taking a cue, Artie reached for his own cell phone and checked to see he had two unread text messages, the first being from Zeke reminding him of another "Sworn for Battle" match up they had, this time with some clan from North Yankton.

_"North Yankton? They actually have electricity there? I thought that place was nothing but snow and igloos," _he thought to himself whenever he heard the largely remote state's name mentioned, the last thing of note coming out of that state being that big bank robbery that took place in Ludendorff back in 2004.

The second message was from Gladys where she told him that she was thinking of him in addition to sending a picture message of herself modeling a brand new neglige she had recently purchased from Viviana's Mystery.

_"God I'm so calling that woman tonight," _Artie told himself looking back just in time to see Dal switching off his phone.

"Hey bro, I'm sorry to cut this short but I've gotta run. That poseur bitch Lil' Kaine has a C.D. release party over at the Chilton and we're short-staffed again. Gotta get myself prepared," Dal said rising to his feet and scooping up both his bag and his ball.

"Alright, well nice seeing you again, but next time you won't be getting up on your own," Artie mockingly threatened as he and Dal bumped fists and he watched the pit fighter make his way over to his yellow BeeJay XL and take off.

Artie stood around idly for a few seconds before his cell phone rang and he looked down to see Johnny was calling him, his blood pressure rising upon seeing the rat bastard's name. With a low snarl he switched the phone on and spoke, "This better be fucking important!"

_"Oh dear Arthur, do you think I'm calling you just because I enjoy the sound of your voice? Of course I'm calling you because it's fucking important!" _the loan shark spat, techno music thumping in the background.

Artie did not reply, letting out another low snarl.

_"Get over to Queen Sheba's Revue and we'll go from there. Now move your ass!" _Johnny shouted before hanging up.

Artie once again clenched his phone in hand, nearly crushing it beneath the force. Calming himself down he scooped up his gym bag and made his way over to a nearby vendor selling nuts.

"Would you like my nuts in your mouth?" the Nut House vendor asked holding up a bag of steaming freshly-cooked nuts.

"Sure thing," Artie said handing the man a five dollar bill, unable to laugh at the innuendo as he normally would have. He walked over to the Deimos SP and climbed in, switching the radio to 94.3 and turning the volume up, wanting to do what he could to vent his rage. At the moment "Sickness Within" by Hatesphere was playing, a loud, aggressive sound perfect for this kind of situation.

The hitman whipped violently around a corner, prompting angry honking from the driver of a Benson, continuing on without a hitch and eventually whipping around another corner, where he cut off an oncoming Argento and sent it head on into a light pole.

_"Serves you right for standing in my way, fucker," _Artie thought to himself. Johnny Sneed was able to bring out a level of rage in him never before felt, a level which caused him to not give a fuck about anything or anybody else around him. All he focused on was getting to the rat bastard loan shark as fast as he could, getting done what needed to be done, and then getting him out of his hair until the next time he would be forced to deal with him. Until then, nobody else would be safe from his wrath, as was demonstrated by the poor bastard riding a Whippet race bike and sending him comically crashing into a Tarbrush Cafe coffee stand.

Artie roared into the Red Light District and it wasn't long before he was pulling up in front of Queen Sheba's Revue, parking the Deimos SP haphazardly and striding forcefully towards the front entrance, the club's doorman off to the side more concerned about picking up a nearby stripper on her smoke break rather than doing his job.

The strip club was its usual vibrant atmosphere with numerous strippers on the stages at once and the never ending plethora of horny locals throwing away their entire paychecks at the silicon-enhanced divas strutting their stuff on stage, one of which was dressed in a cop uniform with a nightstick held between her legs that she was stroking as if it were a penis.

"Where the fuck are you Johnny?" the hitman asked aloud scanning the area for signs of the loan shark.

It was at the back of the club in the V.I.P. area where he finally spotted the rat bastard, in the middle of receiving a lap dance from two of the dancers, his guards positioned at each corner of the enclosure.

Artie's blood boiled at the sight of the man and he powered towards the man, forcefully shoving some ginger-haired guy out of his way, yet yielding to a dancer wearing angel wings as he made his way over, the loan shark still entranced by the two women grinding on him.

"Well you're definitely looking a lot better than the last time I saw you," the hitman boomed, startling the two dancers from their routine.

Johnny stared incredulously towards the two women and was about to yell at them before he looked over and saw Artie standing before him. Stopping himself the loan shark leaned back and took a swig from his glass of brandy before speaking to the dancers, "Ladies, if you'll excuse us for a minute."

The dancers stood up and walked away just as Artie sat down on an ottoman across from him, the loan shark's bodyguards turning to face them. The hired gun furrowed his brow at the slimy bastard just as he casually crossed his legs and leaned back in his puffy armchair.

"Ah yes dear Arthur, it's been far too long. You'd be surprised at the what the miracles of modern medicine can accomplish," Johnny sarcastically chuckled.

"Cut the bullshit Johnny! What the fuck did you call me here for now?" the hired gun demanded.

"Aw c'mon Artie you're hurting my feelings here! Don't cha' wanna sit down and talk about the Statesmen game like all friends do? Have you seen the swing that Cricketer guy has? Man-" Johnny started rambling on, only to be cut off by the hitman standing up and overturning the ottoman.

"Enough!" the hitman roared, frightening several of the nearby patrons and causing a few of the dancers to stop halfway through their routines, Johnny's guards placing their hands over their concealed pistols.

Johnny chuckled venomously at the outburst, "You still haven't gotten it yet, have you Arthur Cappelli? You touch me and not only do you die, but so does everyone you love. Now if I were you I'd sit my guinea ass down and listen to what I have to say."

Artie looked around to the guards, their hands now on the handles of their respective guns. The looks in their eyes let him know they were not hesitant about shooting him dead if they absolutely had to. He also looked around to everybody else in the club, the music coming to a halt as the D.J. cowered beneath his station. The silence was so deathlike you could hear a needle drop, all frightened eyes upon him.

Taking a deep breath he returned his attention to the loan shark and spoke, "Alright, what do you want done?"

It was now Johnny's turn to look around to all the patrons and staff, "Don't you people believe in minding your own fucking business?" he snapped.

On cue the D.J. resumed his job, _"Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you for choosing Queen Sheba's Revue as your number one place for adult entertainment in all of lovely Rushmore City! And now here is a number for yours truly. Please be sure to tip your dancers!" _he spoke into the microphone before playing "Pony" by Ginuwine.

"Now where were we?" Johnny asked before catching himself, "Oh right, I've been having an itching suspicion lately about someone I know."

"Yeah, I can see why," Artie sarcastically commented looking over to one of the dancers who had been with Johnny before his arrival, now taking another man by the hand and leading him to the ladies' restroom. "They make topical cream for that you know."

"Heh, that's cute," Johnny snapped before furrowing his brow towards the hitman, "Anyways, there's this guy who's been working for me for the past six years, a longshoreman down at the docks named Marty Balsamo. Lately he's been throwing around more money than he's earning and I don't know what the hell he's been doing, but I'm getting a suspicion that he might be doing something behind my back. I don't know if he's pimping, pushing or talking, but I sure as fuck don't like it!

"I want you to find out whatever it is he's doing and make an example out of his two-faced punk ass!" Johnny spat before pulling out his iFruit and showing Artie a picture of the man, a younger guy with short dark hair and matching eyes with a baby face that made him look like he was barely out of high school, "That's the schmuck right there. He drives a teal Admiral and here's the license plate to look for," he said showing him another pic before looking over to two of his guards, "Take Georgie and Leo with you and when you find that guy, introduce him to the business end of a bullet. Now get outta here!"

Artie didn't need to be told twice and looked over to the two guards, both of whom regarded him with a silent nod and made their way towards the front door and back out onto the street, the hitman hearing giggles and moaning coming from the nearby alley.

"Over there," Georgie said motioning to the nearby Schafter. The hitman walked over and waited for the two apes to climb in and then he started out. He turned up the radio's volume, having no interest in conversing with the two thugs as they went back and forth boasting about their recent sexual conquests. For him all he cared about was getting the job done so he could get as far away from that filthy prick as possible.

He took a sharp right and cut off a Stanier before barely clipping a Borgnine-owned cab and sending it colliding with a parked utility van, the extended platform lurching violently and causing the electric company worker to fall to the pavement below. Not even the relaxing sounds of Peace FM could assuage the rage coursing through Artie's veins and he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckle vigor, pretending it was Johnny's neck.

It was like that the entire drive over to the Harbor district and by the time he finally loosened his grip, the hitman swore he was likely to develop arthritis in the end.

"Alright, there's the dock he works at!" Leo suddenly called out as they approached a busy pier where the day shift employees were just starting to make their leave. Artie pulled the sedan to a halt near the employee parking lot and quietly scanned the workers passing through the main gate. It would take some time, but eventually he would spot a young man clad in soiled blue overalls and wearing a bright orange reflective vest just like everyone else, a steel lunchbox in one hand and his safety helmet tucked beneath his other arm.

It was Marty Balsamo and he was making his way over towards his parked Admiral, looking around as if he expected someone to be watching him before climbing in and pulling out of the parking lot.

_"He probably knows someone is onto him. I'll have to be careful about it. Just hope these two apes are thinking the same thing," _Artie told himself looking over to the two bodyguards before shifting the Schafter into drive and beginning to follow the teal Admiral from a safe distance. He eventually came to a halt at a red light with two other cars between them and waited for the light to turn green before he watched the sedan take a left turn and for once in his life obeyed all the proper traffic signals to avoid drawing suspicion.

He continued following from a distance until both cars behind the Admiral took off in opposite directions, yet he continued to tail him from his distance until the sound of sirens filled the air and both cars were brought to a screeching halt by a multi-car police chase, the Schafter nearly rear-ending the Admiral.

Artie stared intently at the teal-colored sedan hoping the driver wouldn't be getting too suspicious and he looked into the rear view mirror hoping the two apes riding with him would behave themselves. He didn't know if this kid had friends in unexpected places or what, a possibility that left the hired gun gripping his Walther P22's handle.

He watched quietly as Marty looked both ways and took another left hand turn, slowing down to let a bulky Securicar get between them in the hopes it would prevent the longshoreman from seeing them and getting suspicious. This would continue until the younger man took another left turn and without rousing any suspicion the hitman followed suit.

_"C'mon bub, you gotta stop sometime or another," _Artie told himself as they entered the Bellport district and passed the Three Leaf Clover, where he spotted the demolitions expert Boomer in the parking lot in the middle of a fist fight with some dreadlocked Caucasian guy. He felt tempted to stop and help his friend out, but knew the Irish-American was handling himself well judging by the Mack Samuels break he was taking in between right hooks inflicted upon his opponent.

Artie returned his attention to the Admiral and continued following from a safe distance until they approached a roadblock set up by the city fire department, who were in the middle of battling a blaze swallowing up an apartment complex. At the front of the roadblock was a police officer directing traffic down a detour that took them down another right hand turn and soon they were entering the Kasich district.

"Hey, I think he's coming to a stop!" Georgie shouted, pointing eagerly as the Admiral took a left turn onto a narrow side street and slowed to a near crawl, followed by another left turn.

Artie pulled to a halt on the side street and parked the car, "C'mon," he said to the two guards.

"Wait," Leo spoke before making his way around to the trunk and opening it, producing three PP-19 Bizon submachine guns. Artie accepted his gun and the trio quietly made their way down the other side street just in time to see Marty disappear into a nearby alleyway. The trio trailed him until the hired gun motioned for his goons to stop.

He peeked around the corner to see Marty talking with two Redcoats.

"Terrific," he hissed while eavesdropping on the conversation.

"There's the man!" one of the Redcoats called out as Marty approached, giving him a hearty pat on the back, "Ready to make some more bread?"

"You know I am," Marty called out and he walked off with the man while his colleague stayed behind to take a piss by a dumpster. With the man distracted Artie crept up behind him and brought the stock of his gun down onto the back of the man's skull and tossed him into the dumpster shutting the lid behind him.

Artie looked over his shoulder and motioned towards the guards and they followed after him until they came to the other narrow opening Marty and the Redcoat disappeared into, which led into a small courtyard guarded by two shotgun-wielding Redcoats. Again raising his hand the hired gun motioned for his cohorts to halt and he quickly ducked for cover behind a wrecked Rat Loader and crept closer to the booth where the two men stood.

They were standing in a small guard booth that gave them full view of a battered red steel door near some closed loading bays, the door of which Marty and the Redcoat disappeared through.

Artie looked over to the guards, who were both entranced by a baseball game being played on their radio. They would have an unobstructed view if he tried to make a break for the door with two guards at his side. He needed to get them away from each other and had to think quickly before that punk could get too far ahead of him.

There was an empty brick near his foot and he looked back to the guard booth and could hear the volume wasn't too high and he could probably figure out some kind of distraction. Surely enough there was an empty beer bottle near an overturned steel drum and he scooped that up too and tossed it near the guard booth, making a loud enough crash to divert the guards' attention.

"What was that?" one of the red-clad men asked pointing his shotgun out the doorway. He looked over to his friend and cocked his head towards the open courtyard.

"Probably just another fucking cat or meth head. Might as well find out. Haven't had any target practice today," the other Redcoat called out pumping his own shotgun and the two men made their way out into the open.

_"That's right you stupid asses. Come to papa," _Artie told himself as the Redcoat guards scoured the area in search of the cause and crept up on one of the guys, again driving the stock of his submachine gun into the back of the guard's head.

"Find anything?" the other guard called out walking closer to his location. Readying the brick Artie spotted a nearby cracked, dirty window and tossed the brick through it, the shatter catching the guards attention.

"Motherfucker going down!" the guy shouted, just as the hired gun took cover behind a dumpster and shot his foot out when the man ran past, tripping him and sending him face down into the pavement. With the man stunned he brought the PP-19's stock down and knocked the third man unconscious.

Looking back to Johnny's goons, the hired gun waved them forth and they approached the door Marty had entered through.

Artie carefully opened the door and the trio found themselves in the boiler room of the abandoned Cluckin' Bell Farms factory with red arrows spray painted on the walls and floors, deciding to follow them, eventually leading them down a flight of stairs to sub-level where more graffiti was spray painted on the brick wall, a warning: _'TO ALL WHO ENTER. KEEP YOUR FUCKING MOUTHS SHUT OR ELSE YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD! LOVE, THE OWNERS!'_

"Not very subtle," he remarked aloud as he and his companions walked through the door and immediately found themselves surrounded by people sitting on couches, having alcoholic beverages, smoking or just chatting among themselves. Positioned at the end of the hall was another Redcoat standing guard.

"What is this place?" Georgie asked.

"Looks like we're about to find out," Leo replied.

Artie said nothing and led the way around the corner past the guard and the trio found themselves entering a gambling parlor filled with slot machines, Black Jack tables, roulette wheels, a craps table and even a few off track betting stations.

"Where the hell did they get all this stuff?" Artie asked aloud as the boorish Georgie stole a margarita right off a waitresses' tray as she walked past them and eying up another woman walking past in a dominatrix outfit while Leo pulled out his iFruit.

A small band was set up in a corner with a guitarist, keyboardist and drummer, serenading the winners and losers, but Artie was still able to hear the goon talking into the phone.

"Boss, it's Leo. We followed that Marty schmuck alright. He led us to some gambling parlor and from the looks of things those Redcoats must be running the show," he spoke before awaiting a reply from Johnny, "Yeah, it's fucking big time here. I don't know how they pulled it off, but it's some serious Venturas style shit here!" he spoke before again waiting for another reply from his boss and nodding along, "Yeah, it's in that abandoned Cluckin' Bell Farms place in Kasich."

Artie ignored Leo's conversation and looked over to spot Marty Balsamo coming out of what appeared to be a V.I.P. room now wearing a fancy black silk suit, black and white two-toned wingtips, a gold chain around his neck and a silver Crowex, looking a little too well-dressed for being a 'lowly longshoreman.'

"Eh Marty, how ya' doin'!" he heard a voice calling out and quickly the hired gun approached a nearby unattended slot machine and sat down on the stool in front of it, acting like he was playing a game. He tried to keep his eyes glued on the fruit symbols in front of him while at the same time eavesdropping on the conversation taking place.

"Chester, it's been a while, but Marty Balls is just fine!" the younger called back.

Artie stole a quick peek away from the slot machine's screen to catch a glimpse of Marty talking to a man whose fashion sense was on par with Jimmy Sweet's in terms of gaudiness.

The man was a tall African-American male with his black hair cropped closely to his head and wearing a bright red suit with a black dress shirt underneath, a white tie, black and white two-toned dress shoes and had a large ruby ring on his left hand. He had a cocktail in one hand and was giving Marty a hearty handshake with his free hand.

"Eh, glad to hear it home boy. Why don't cha' come to the back? We're having that 'special game.' Winner takes home a big purse. Think you'll be able to make it four in a row? Your aim is becoming the stuff of legend around here," the suited man spoke.

"You know me all too well. I'm never one to turn down some easy money. Fuck, it's way more than that fucking Pollack ever pays me," Marty said as the duo turned on their heels and walked towards the back.

Artie was about to follow after them when he felt a bony hand tapping him on the shoulder and he turned to see a short elderly Korean lady sticking an elf doll with wild orange hair in his face.

"Excuse me sonny, can you please rub my elf's hair for good luck?" she asked in her thick broken accent. Artie didn't have time for such nonsense and turned on his feel following after the duo, the woman shouting at him in her native tongue. Judging by her tone he knew he was being cursed at.

Artie brushed off the woman's shouts and made his way towards the back, bobbing and weaving his way around the other patrons until he was entering a narrow corridor and followed it until coming to a door guarded by a Redcoat carrying an AA-12 combat shotgun.

"No entry past this point unless you're looking to participate," the man spoke.

"If this is the 'special game' I've heard about, then I'm in," Artie replied.

The man nodded and let him through and the hitman pushed the door open, only to be met by the coppery stench of long ago dried blood.

The door led into a small drab-looking room with its white walls and floor covered in dried bloodstains. There were three targets positioned on the far left wall, all of them covered in blood and full of nicks made by knives, the target area itself cordoned off by the kind of chain link protection he would have expected in a batting cage, separating the 'shooting range' from a small area where numerous spectators gathered, Marty and Chester among the crowd.

Artie sneaked his way in and took a position behind some burly biker a few inches taller than him and some Mohawked punk rocker. From where he stood he could see a wooden shelf with five knives sticking out of it, all of them recently cleaned.

_"I think I know where this is going," _he told himself as Chester walked to the front of the crowd and motioned for everybody to quiet down.

"Alright all you hip cats, this is where the _real_ fun happens!" he called out, prompting hoots and hollers from the attendees.

On cue, a side door opened and two Redcoats entered dragging in a frightened man in a hot dog costume. The man had a hood over his head but when Artie heard his voice he immediately recognized him.

"Unhand me at once you Visigoths!" the high-pitched yowl of Randy Spitz called out as the hood was removed, "I swear if I get fired from my job over this the blood will be on your hands!"

"Just shut the fuck up bitch boy!" one of the Redcoats responded pulling out a blackjack and striking him hard in the kneecap, causing the nerdy man to cry out in pain.

_"Randy, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?" _Artie asked as the two men began tying him to one of the wooden targets. He was dressed like Willy Wiener, the mascot of the Wiener World franchise, _"Must be that new job he just _had_ to brag about and nearly get me shot in the process."_

"Non-existent God, why must you once again find it necessary to take yet another major shit all over me?" Randy whined, again silenced when the same thug raised his blackjack.

Chester pulled one of the throwing knives out of the shelf and twirled it with the grace of a master, "Alright boys, the aim is to hit the target. Sweet and simple," and with those words he chucked the throwing knife in Randy's direction, causing him to let out an inhuman shriek of terror. Fortunately the knife was embedded in the wall next to him.

"That's just a warm up," Chester chuckled as a wet spot appeared over Randy's crotch. He then looked over to Marty, "Marty Balls here has been our champ for the last four weeks, the dead eye himself! Why don't you show all these noobs what you're made of?"

"With pleasure," Marty snickered grabbing another knife and going to toss it.

Artie looked ahead to Randy and saw the look of pure horror in his eyes and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

_"Damn it. Randy might be one annoying motherfucker, but still even he doesn't deserve to die like this," _the hitman told himself stepping up behind the longshoreman and catching his attention.

"And what the fuck do you want?" he asked looking over his shoulder, clearly annoyed.

"Why don't you let someone else try for once?" Artie smirked.

"Fuck off pally. This is my head to claim!" the longshoreman retorted.

The smirk never left Artie's face, "Oh really? You scared of a little competition?"

That comment roused some cheers from the other spectators urging him to accept the hitman's challenge. Marty looked wordlessly towards him and the crowd before an electronic ring sounded and Chester was left reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.

"Yeah, what is it?" he demanded, listening to the voice on the other end, "The Aces again? Those motherfucking bastards! I'll be right over!" the man hollered before turning to Artie and Marty, "Looks like you two are on your own. Don't disappoint," he said before disappearing out the door with two guards in tow.

Marty looked back to Artie and smirked, "Alright hot shot. You wanna come in here like you fucking own the place? Alright, let's see what you got," he said offering the throwing knife.

"Gladly," Artie said taking the knife in hand and taking his position.

When Randy looked up to see his next attacker his skin paled and his eyes grew wide as saucers.

"A...A...A...Ar...Ar...Ar," he tried to gasp, but sounded like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

_"I'm not going to hit him on purpose. Just gotta put on a show for these clowns," _Artie told himself as he took his time and flung the knife, purposely embedding it in the wood next to Randy's head, causing him to let out another blood-curdling shriek.

"Ha ha! Typical fucking noob! Why don't you spare yourself and let a real fucking pro show you how it's done?" Marty taunted.

"I'll get it sooner or later," Artie slyly replied, looking back to Randy and mouthing the words 'play along.' The fidgety ex-cashier looked back to him uneasily before he took the next knife and chucked it dangerously low, right between his legs and causing the man to scream 'You son of a bitch!'

"Man you suck," a spectator called out.

"My blind grandmother could hit that weenie before you could," another heckled.

"You might as well let a real man handle this," Marty snapped trying to snatch the next throwing knife away, but Artie was quicker and cut him off before he could.

"Relax man! I'll get it eventually!" Artie protested grabbing the knife away along with the other one.

It was then a staccato of loud popping came from the main parlor.

"What the fuck?" Marty called out.

Given the distraction, Artie took the throwing knife and chucked it straight into the young man's chest and then tossed the other knife into the throat of a Redcoat guard. The nearest Redcoat guard saw the action and raised his Glock taking aim at the hired gun, but instead striking down both the biker and punk rocker before one of the biker's friends raised a Colt Python and returned fire, causing several of the other spectators to draw their own firearms and exchange gunfire.

With the room descending into chaos Artie took his chance to hop the barricade and made his way into the enclosure. Grabbing the throwing knife stuck between Randy's legs he then proceeded to cut the nerdy man free.

"Artie what are you doing here?" he asked before his tone suddenly raised, "More importantly, why were you trying to fucking kill me?"

"I had to look like I belonged," the hired gun replied helping his friend off the target and quickly leading him towards the side door the guards had brought Randy through.

The duo made their way back to find Leo and Georgie shooting the place up, frightened patrons fleeing in all directions and the Redcoats returning fire.

"Fuck this shit!" Georgie called out looking in his direction, "We're taking this place! Smash everything you can!" he shouted before grabbing a Redcoat and tossing him onto a Black Jack table, splitting it in half while Leo began knocking over slot machines.

"Find some place to hide," Artie shouted to Randy pulling out the PP-19 and gunning down a Redcoat as he prepared to fire a round of buckshot into Georgie. A nearby Redcoat took notice of him and attempted to whip him with the butt of his AK-47, but the hitman was quicker and wrapped his arm around the man's throat, taking him as a human shield. Unfortunately for the hapless gang banger, his so-called friends took no regard for his well-being and riddled him with bullets in their efforts to kill the hired gun.

With his human shield dead, the hitman took cover behind a nearby counter and continued popping out to fire quick controlled bursts as his colleagues struggled with the other red-clad gangsters. He continued creeping along the counter until he bumped into something and looked down to see it was the elderly Korean lady from earlier, who again shouted at him in her native tongue before striking him with her purse.

"Lady I ain't got time for this!" the hired gun said shoving his way past the woman and cutting down another Redcoat with a burst that sent him falling backwards, his gun discharging and taking down another rival gangster. With both men down Artie vaulted over the counter and shot out the kneecaps of a Redcoat, then stomping on his hand and breaking all the bones as he reached for a .38 revolver.

"You Redcoats are fuckin' amateurs! All of ya's!" Georgie laughed hysterically before being cut down by a shotgun blast to the stomach, his attacker cut down a second later by Leo.

"C'mon, we gotta get to the counting rooms," Leo said scooping up the AK-47 of a fallen Redcoat and gunning down two more rival gangsters.

The hitman threw down the emptied PP-19 and scooped up the Saiga-12 assault shotgun of another fallen Redcoat along with all the shells the dead man carried and followed after Leo, the Banditelli goon leading him into a narrow hallway with counting rooms on each side.

"You're on Banditelli turf now bitches!" Leo shouted gunning down two money men before he was forced into cover by another Redcoat. Artie saw his predicament and fired through the nearby window to drop the man in a bloody flurry. He saw two more Redcoats emerging from the room to his right, yet they were boxed in by the narrow doorway and he was able to quickly dispatch both of them before turning his attention to one of the parlor cashiers and gunning the man down as he reached for a sawed-off shotgun hidden beneath one of the desks.

"Smash the cash boxes! Take whatever you can get!" Leo called out from the room across from him, only to fall a second later as a Redcoat cut him down with dual Ingram MAC 10's.

The gangster laughed as he set his sights on Artie and fired away madly, shards of glass and shredded papers flying as the hired gun dove for cover behind another desk. Creeping along the steel desks he eventually managed to peek around the corner and fire a blast from the Saiga-12 from a prone position, striking the hood in his side and leaving him bleed to death.

The hired gun returned to his feet and peered through the shattered windows to spot the cash boxes Leo spoke of before his demise and he ran over, blowing them open one by one with blasts from his shotgun, only to be halted as three more Redcoats came charging in attempting to surround the hired gun.

"Going down motherfucker!" one of the red-clad hoods shouted before firing a burst from his TEC-9.

Artie kicked a swivel chair towards the man in the hopes of delaying his attack as he turned to deliver a thrust kick into the midsection of a Redcoat who attempted to jump him from behind, again grabbing the man and using him as a human shield before grabbing him and shoving him into his colleague, finishing them off with blasts from the Saiga-12 and he turned to finish the TEC-9 thug off first with a blast to his stomach and lastly with one that reduced his head to a bloody pulp.

The hired gun ejected the last of his spent shells and looked around for any other threats, only to hear someone clapping.

Whirling around with his shotgun at the ready he found Johnny Sneed standing before him, sarcastically applauding his performance.

"Way to go Artie! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!" he mockingly called out pumping his fist in the air, "You sure know how to stack those corpses like its judgment day!"

"Can the bullshit Sneed! What the fuck are you doing here?" Artie demanded.

"Heh, what does it look like idiota? I'm here applauding your 'oh so inspiring' performance," the loan shark chuckled, "Perhaps that little rat bastard had some use after all. Got the boys here cleaning this place out as we speak."

"Uh Artie...is it safe to come out now?" Randy asked peeking out from behind them, only to yelp aloud when he realized it was Johnny Sneed standing before Artie.

"C'mon we're getting out of here," Artie said brushing past Johnny and grabbing his friend by the arm.

They made their way back into the main corridor where more Banditelli goons had arrived and were now in the process of clearing the corpses from the shooting range. Artie came to a halt when he spotted Marty's body among them.

"Hold up," he said letting go of Randy and making his way over to the longshoreman's carcass.

"Hey Artie what are you...oh man, is that really necessary?" he asked as Artie knelt over the body.

Artie ignored Randy's protests and proceeded to remove both the silver Crowex and gold chain from the deceased Marty Balsamo. _"These should get me a few extra bucks at Pawn-O-Rama."_

"Alright, now we can get out of here," he said leading his friend to the exit.

XXXXX

"Sir, I'm serious. I was kidnapped by a group of Redcoats," Randy repeated for the tenth time into Artie's cell phone, trying to talk over the screams of a very pissed off supervisor, "No I'm not using this as an excuse to get an extra day off! Four Redcoats seriously jumped out of a van while I was about to give some snotty six year old a free wiener, grabbed me, threw a hood over my head and next thing I know I'm in some basement having knives thrown at me!" he shouted pacing back and forth, ignoring the stares of an elderly couple walking past him.

The duo was now outside the Cool Beans in Blue Hook, Artie finishing off his Beaner while reclining against his Deimos SP. In hindsight he wondered if pumping the younger man full of caffeine had been the smartest idea on his behalf, but the young man was enough of a mess after being kidnapped and nearly having his life ended yet again and was desperate for anything he could eat or drink following the ordeal. When he called out for the cafe as they passed through the hired gun found himself not having the heart to turn him down.

Now here he was pacing back and forth still in his Willy Wiener costume, blabbing back and forth with a pissed off manager as more and more streetwalkers were beginning to take notice of the spectacle before them.

_"Smooth move Artie," _he told himself tossing the empty cup into the nearby trash bin, pretending he didn't know the younger man.

"I'm serious! This wasn't my fault!" Randy shouted into the phone one last time before he was cut off by another pissed off tirade. Ten additional seconds passed before he switched off the Whiz and looked dejectedly down to the sidewalk.

"I take it things didn't go well?" Artie asked uncrossing his arms.

"No...they didn't. I'm fired...again. Now all I am is a virgin dressed like a huge wiener," Randy sighed sadly as a pigeon perched itself on his shoulder and took a huge dump before flying away.

Once again Artie couldn't help but feel bad for the now fired Randy, a man who seemed to have the Devil's luck if there any was. He felt compelled to help man his night a little better and looked over to see the Binco store in the distance.

"Come on," he said grabbing Randy and leading him towards the sports car, "You need a distraction from all this bullshit. It can be my treat."

The nerd looked up to him in puzzlement, "Are you serious?"

"Sure," Artie said walking around and climbing into the driver's seat, "First I'll get you some new clothes and then I'll take you over to Hell's Belles. My cousin owns the place, get you the V.I.P. treatment."

Randy's bafflement turned to astonishment, "Are you serious?" he asked again.

Artie reached over and opened the passenger side door for him, "Is this serious enough for you?"

Randy's eyes suddenly widened and his breathing accelerated, "Oh my...I'm going to have boobs shoved in my face," he whispered to himself, "I'm going to have boobs shoved in my face!" he repeated, this time in a joyous shout that had more streetwalkers looking at him strangely. "I'm going to have boobs shoved in my face!"

The excitement was quickly getting the better of Randy and he began hyperventilating, forcing him to reach into his pocket and grab his inhaler. Taking a few puffs his breathing slowed and he carefully lowered himself into the passenger seat.

"Time to get this show on the road," Artie said starting the car up, setting the station to Rock of Rushmore 89.5 and turning up the volume as Rare Earth's "I Just Want to Celebrate" blasted through the airwaves.

XXXXX

Author's Note: And so concludes yet another installment of "Rushmore City," this mission being largely inspired by the New Hennequet Rec Center stronghold mission from "Saints Row 2."

Well that's pretty much it from my end so as always read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


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